


Writing and Acting Are Boyfriends

by vulcanarmr



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Abusive Naomi (Supernatural), Alternate Universe - High School, Angst with a Happy Ending, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Author has ADHD, Author is a theatre kid, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Castiel Has Self-Esteem Issues (Supernatural), Castiel Needs a Hug (Supernatural), Dead John Winchester and Mary Winchester, Dean Winchester Has ADHD, Dean Winchester Has Abandonment Issues, Dean Winchester Needs a Hug, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Kinda, M/M, Naomi is Castiel's Parent (Supernatural), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Castiel (Supernatural), POV Dean Winchester, Self-Indulgent, Suicidal Thoughts, Tags May Change, There will be fluff eventually, Trauma, Writer Castiel (Supernatural), You Have Been Warned, author is a writer (duh), but ANGST, but not at first bc they're closeted, he/they castiel, other minor relationships not mentioned in tags, religious trauma, the way this started out meaning to be fluff but quickly grew into Angst, theater kid dean winchester, there will be angst, unlabeled cas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:48:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 31,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27929269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulcanarmr/pseuds/vulcanarmr
Summary: Dean and Castiel are kinda-actually-pretty different, but even if they express it in different ways, they have a lot more in common than they think as they get to know each other. And still a whole lot of different, too.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 82
Kudos: 53





	1. one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, so we're doing a play at our school soon and i decided to write this for absolutely no reason <3 idk where it's going, but i love the idea of theatrekid!dean and writer!cas, so yes, here we are, i am going to sleep after posting this. this chapter is kinda short, but the next ones should be longer and the next one will be from cas' pov!!
> 
> some warning for mention of homophobia/slight homophobic language and mentioned abuse

_d.w._

Theatre, Sammy, and ADH-fucking-D have been the only constants in Dean’s life since he was four and his mother burned. Everything else, including the nightmares of fire and smoke and choking and heat and "take your brother outside" and run run _run,_ is on and off. Changing. New. And honestly? He probably would’ve drowned in the waves of unceasing fluidity if it weren’t for those constants. The first two, anyway. He could do without being distracted and impulsive and unable to sit still for more than five minutes. But here he is. Not dead. Passing all his classes with As and Bs. Except math. He has a C in math. But math is bullshit. Who invented math, in the first place? It’s a social construct. If everyone’d agreed that two plus two equals fish, then that would be how things work.

But anyways.

Dean remembers watching Fiddler on the Roof with his mom at some point in his early childhood. Before the scorching. Before the smell of death. He remembers not paying attention to most of it. He remembers not understanding the bits he did pay attention to. He remembers his mother saying that she’d take him to see it on Broadway some day. He remembers asking what that was. He remembers her telling him. And that’s where the memory ends, and it’s one of the only ones he has of her. He doesn’t know what she was like. Maybe she was sweet. Maybe she wasn’t all that great. But in that memory, she’s kind, and she’s smiley. And after that memory, there is only fire.

That’s probably what sparked the whole theatre thing. Dean remembers watching every musical he could get his hands on from the library. He remembers reading playbooks, and watching movies and wondering how the people could seem so real when they were just pretending. Sam wasn’t very good at pretending. Dean didn’t know if he was good at pretending. He’d never pretended in front of anyone besides his brother before. And Sammy didn’t talk much at that point. He was only like two.

John’d expected him to grow out of it, probably, because every time they’d move to a new town after Dean reached middle school, he’d ask if there were any clubs that sounded interesting. Dean usually said the same. From the day he found out school had clubs, he found the closest thing to a theatre club, whether it be drama or improv or film studies, he’d find out about it. He would answer his dad when he asked. He’d tell him about the acting, and he wouldn’t notice how John’s face got irritated and even angry when he’d talk about it. He’d just go on and on, unable to help himself from talking about it and all the people he’d met and all of it. Until he hit high school, at which point his dad snapped and said he needed to stop with the ‘theatre thing’ before he ‘turned into some fucking pansy’. Dean lied about where he stayed after school after that. He didn’t need John to figure out he already was.

He’s been attending Lawrence High School for two years now, which is the longest he’s stayed somewhere since his mom’s death. He probably wouldn’t be staying here if it weren’t for Sonny. Dean and Sam have been living with him for the past nineteen months, since John decided it was a good fucking idea to drive after drinking an ocean of alcohol and crash his car into a tree. Dean was a mess for a few weeks after, and then he just went almost completely numb to it. He doesn’t know if most people ignore the feelings that come with this sort of thing, or if that’s just him because of what John was like. He doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or not. Sure, his dad was a piece of shit sometimes, but did that mean he needed to die? Probably not. Punches are just punches, after all, it’s not like he ever came at Dean with a damn knife. But whatever. Sonny’s nice to him and Sam, and it’s nice to help out with the younger kids at the boys' home Sonny started sometimes, when Dean’s not working.

Through all that mess of losing both parents and having to help Sam deal with and and getting used to finally settling down, theatre’s really something that’s helped Dean get through it. Yeah, it’s gay, or whatever John wants to call it. Wanted to call it. But it doesn’t really matter, right? People cope in different ways. And maybe he’s kind of gay anyways.

Not that anyone outside of the LHS Theatre Club needs to know that.

There’s a new kid in the club today, Dean notices as he snaps out of his blanked out state. He’s been staring right at them, but he hasn’t really been paying attention to that. That happens a lot. He’ll blank out, and when he comes back to the earth, he realizes he’s been staring at someone and is probably making them uncomfortable. And he’ll take in absolutely no information. It’s really annoying, and absolutely not ideal for when it happens in math class. He refuses to get a _D_ in that class.

But whatever, back to the new kid. They look like they just got out of bed and threw on a beige sweater that belongs to someone twice their size, because their hair’s a mess and their hands are hiding inside their sleeves. It’s honestly adorable. And Dean’s standing before he can stop himself and walking over to the new person’s seat at the top of the audience chairs in the small theatre, smiling. Not necessarily because he wants to flirt with them or compliment them, even though both of those things could happen, but because sometimes he just gets immediately fascinated with someone and wants to get to know them. That’s how he got to meet Benny and Charlie. He just got interested in them and wanted to know them better.

“Hey,” Dean starts as he gets closer, and the person in the oversized sweater looks up from the papers they’ve been staring at. Dean continues. “Your sweater’s cute, what’re your pronouns?” He grins wide. The new kid stares at him for a moment, eyes narrowing, before they laugh softly.

“Um...just he/him…” he says. His voice sounds like a car engine, and it’s one of Dean’s favourite things for a moment.

“Cool beans, same,” Dean says, sitting down next to the guy. “I’m Dean.”

“Castiel.”

Dean meets his eyes for a second, before looking down at the papers in his lap. He laughs. Castiel shifts in his seat. Dean stops laughing. “Dude, that’s a really awesome name.”

Castiel’s sleeve-hidden hands tuck the papers into a folder. “Thank you…?” It sounds like a question. Dean looks up at him.

“Yeah, no problem. Sorry if this is weird, you’re just new, so…” he trails off. “You new to the school, or just to the club?”

Castiel opens his mouth, a slight look on his face that Dean can’t tell the meaning of. It’s either shyness or irritation, which leaves a pretty big spectrum of what this guy could be feeling about him. Maybe he should just leave.

“I’ve been here since the beginning of the school year, but I’m new to the club,” Castiel says after a moment. Dean takes it as a sign that he hasn’t scared him off, and that there’s still hope for getting to know him. But before he can say anything else to him, Mr Meyer is talking into his microphone and the club has seemingly started. Dean doesn’t move from his spot next to the new guy.

“I’ll talk to you after, ‘kay?” he whispers loudly as he leans over towards him slightly. “Welcome to the club.”

Castiel smiles just slightly when Dean looks at him. “Thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos are always appreciated <3 have a wonderful day/night!!


	2. two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maybe i lied about this chapter being longer, but the chapters will get longer eventually, promise <3 i have more of an idea of where this is going? i'm still getting a feel for things, so the first few chapters might feel a little weird, but i'll get into a rhythm and hopefully like how this turns out :)
> 
> warning for mentions of homophobia and slight suicidal ideation

_c.n._

Castiel hadn’t really been expecting anyone to speak to him when he entered the smaller of the two theatres in the school. He wasn’t the sort of person most people noticed; he was quiet. Not shy, because he could speak up and interact with people when he needed to, but he was more introverted. He kept to himself, and if there was something he wanted to say without really saying it, he would write about it. And that is how ‘Paint and Divinity’ was born. It’s seven thousand words, give or take. Castiel had been writing the play since their freshman year, unsure if anyone would read or even want to read it. But Mr Meyer, teacher of English and Theatre, had asked to see it. In some flash of courage that came rarely to Castiel, they had let him.

And Meyer had loved it.

He had loved it so much that he’d decided to use it for the fall show.

Which led to Castiel being here, with a copy of his script in his hands, sitting next to a boy who’d come over and begun talking to him for no particular reason. The boy. Dean, as he had introduced himself. He’s confident, and loud, and cheerful, and Castiel is envious almost immediately, for reasons they can’t explain. They simply find his mannerisms endearing, and they wish they could reach the level of confidence and assertiveness that Dean seems to have, and somehow seems to have had for a long time. Perhaps they would be somewhere else in life if they were, instead of being a mildly depressed nineteen year old senior who had to repeat ninth grade because they let their mother do what she wanted with their life. But perhaps, if that had never happened, they would never have written this play.

Mr Meyer has just announced the play and Castiel’s name, and when Castiel glances at Dean beside him, he almost looks like a child at Christmas. His smirk-like grin looks unnaturally huge. Castiel’s face heats, and he hates himself for it.

“You wrote the play we’re doing?” Dean asks, the question painfully rhetorical and meant to convey his surprise. “That’s awesome.”

Castiel tugs at the sleeve of his sweater, pulling it over the tips of his fingers as he looks back down at the folder containing ‘Paint and Divinity’. “Yes, I did...thank you…” he said quietly. He realizes that’s close to all that he’s said to Dean, because he just keeps complimenting him and saying nice things. It’s strange, and the confidence still makes Castiel envious, but they can’t find it within themself to mind all that much.

Meyer hands out the scripts. Dean leaves from his spot next to Castiel, only to return seconds later with a copy in his hand. Castiel’s face heats once again, and they look away as he begins to flip through the pages. “I love how a lot of the characters don’t have a specific gender, that’s badass,” he comments, eyes not leaving the script. Castiel glances at him and stops themself from saying yet another ‘thank you’.

“I wanted to be more flexible in casting and choose based on talent rather than description,” he replies simply, looking over to try and catch others’ reactions to his script. No one seems particularly uninterested, and a few people glance back at him. He smiles slightly at a few of them, then at Meyer, who smiles back and gives a quick wave.

“How long’d this take you?” Dean asks, and Castiel pulls his eyes from Meyer to the boy next to him.

“Almost five years.”

“Since eight grade?”

Castiel nods, not wanting to reveal is repetition of freshman year. Dean beams, the Christmas-grin back on his face.

“Can’t wait to read it.”

“Thank you,” Castiel lets slip again. Dean nods.

“‘Course. I better get the lead role, though.” He pauses, then laughs. He’s gorgeous. Castiel doesn’t notice, of course. “Kidding." Dean sighs softly, pulling out his phone. "I’ve gotta go early, ‘cause I got work. But I’ll seeya?”

Castiel nods their head once. “See you.”

Dean stands and waves slightly, before starting down the steps. He taps a younger kid sitting a few rows down on the shoulder, and they both leave the room. Castiel watches them, and he doesn’t realize Mr Meyer’s coming up to talk to him until the teacher sits next to him, where Dean had just been. They talk a bit, sort out a day for auditions, which Meyer then announces to the club. Everyone then just hangs around and talks, and Castiel finds a group of people he knows somewhat. He doesn’t really speak; he just listens to the conversation and nods with the occasional word. The club ends at four-thirty.

Castiel drives home.

The drive is short, but it takes hours in their mind. It always does, perhaps as a way of coping with the fact that they’re going back to their house, where their mother will most likely already be. She doesn’t know about the play, and she never will, if Castiel can help it. The play, in all its glorious gayness, was created out of the need to make something to pour his emotions into. Out of a need to express inexpressible feelings and experiences. Feelings and experiences that, were Naomi to know her son still had, would get him either disowned and kicked out, or worse. Castiel has already experienced some of the worse. He doesn’t want that again.

The house is quiet. It usually is. The kind of quiet left behind after years of noise and excitement, now gone, a ghost in the halls of the building. It is far too large for two people, but simultaneously not large enough, because Castiel can never escape their mother in this house, never be far from her, no matter how hard they try. And yet, they don’t have anywhere to go if they were to run away. They only arrived near the beginning of the school year; they don’t have friends yet, just acquaintances and people they know who don’t know them. Though perhaps they don’t have to know anyone. Perhaps they could disappear. Maybe they should.

Naomi isn’t in the kitchen when Castiel serves himself a glass of water. She isn’t in the living room or her office or her bedroom. As far as Castiel can tell, she isn’t in the house, and he can’t help but be thankful for that. The relationship he has with his mother is complicated. Though maybe it isn’t, and the complexities of it are just him trying to hold onto the final threads of a good relationship that will inevitably fail, sending him falling and spiraling into darkness.

They sigh, setting the glass of water down and moving to their bedroom. They sit on the bed and take their copy of ‘Paint and Divinity’ out of their bag, beginning to read through it for the third time today. The anxiety that comes along with the idea of around thirty students reading their play slowly makes itself known, and they try to reassure themself that what they wrote, what they are now reading, is good enough. Meyer thought it was. But the anxiety only grows with the notion of having to hide the performance from their mother; they need an excuse for staying after school. They need to lie perfectly. They can’t afford allowing their mother to know. The whole thing is risky and precarious, but it’s too late to go back now, and Castiel wants to try. It’s one of the only things keeping him stable. He can’t disappear, not now. Not until the play is over, at least. It gives him a purpose. A small, momentary purpose.

He hides the script beneath his mattress at the sound of the front door opening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya, idk, leave comments if you liked this ig <3 also i put this title just as a title until i think of something else but i kinda like it in all its cheesiness, so ✨
> 
> have a fantastic day/night!!


	3. three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hellooooo, have another chapter because i've been writing instead of doing homework again!! also they/he/she benny because i said so <3
> 
> warnings for mentions of abuse and homophobia

_d.w._

A few days later, auditions hit.

Sam decides not to audition and goes home.

Dean’s nervous. He always is. It might be irrational to be nervous. He’s gotten at least a minor part of every play the school’s had since his freshman year, and he highly doubts he suddenly won’t now. And if there’s something he’s good at, which really isn’t much, it’s acting. That sounds selfish and self centred when Dean thinks about it, but maybe it isn’t. Maybe he’s just good at it, and maybe that’s okay. So yeah, he’s probably going to get a part. He’s not exactly nervous about that. Not too much, anyways. He’s way more stressed out because he really, really, _really_ wants the lead role. _Really._ And not because it’s the lead role. Dean doesn’t really give a shit about getting the lead role, honestly, as much as he jokes around about it. But he just really, completely, _absolutely,_ loves the character. Emmanuel(le) Newman. Pretty classy name. Dean adores Emmanuel(le). Something about them is just so relatable, and yet completely unrelatable at the same time. They're a queer character, which is awesome. They're love interest is meant to be the same gender or similar gender to them. Dean wants to play them so bad, but he knows there are other fantastic actors in the theatre club, and since the character doesn’t have a specific gender, that gives even more competition for the part.

It’s Friday, which means Dean usually has work or helps out at the boys’ home, but he’s cleared his schedule for this. Sonny doesn’t mind, because he knows how important this is to him. John never would’ve let him stay at school if he knew it was for the audition. John would’ve punched and kicked and yelled and picked them up and moved them out of town. Dean’s stomach twists at the thought of it, and the thought of hiding all this, and the thought not _having_ to hide it anymore, and the thought of the reason for that being John’s death. He still feels completely conflicted about it, so he ignores it and numbs himself to the uneasy feeling maybe a little too much. Funny how an ex-con is a better father than his own dad was, probably. Honestly, a lot of ex-cons aren’t even bad people. Society has just painted this stigmatized picture that a crime is a crime, and everyone who breaks the law should go to prison or be punished, no matter the reason or the crime. It’s really fucking stupid sometimes, and-

“Dean!” Charlie’s voice exclaims, and Dean starts and turns to look at her as she sits down next to him. “Meyer’s collecting the audition forms now.”

Dean notices his heart’s beating fast in his chest, and he takes a deep breath, before dragging a smile onto his face as he nods. “Thanks,” he says as he digs through his bag to find his folder. He finds it after a while and pulls out his audition form, before standing up and nearly tripping down the stairs of the audience seats in the small theatre. He catches his balance, hearing a small “are you okay?” from next to him. He glances in the general direction of the voice, and he sees Castiel. He grins without really meaning to, and Castiel smiles back.

“I’m uh...I’m fine, thanks,” Dean says, holding up the slightly wrinkled audition form. “Just turning this in. Did you turn yours in?” He pauses, mentally throwing himself out a window. “Of course you didn’t, you wrote the play. Sorry.” He laughs, and he hopes it doesn’t sound as nervous as it is. Castiel shrugs slightly and laughs with him, like gravel under silver boots. Dean’s heart levitates.

“It’s okay. I can’t wait to see your audition.” A small pause, but Dean’s so focused on the way Castiel’s mouth moves as he speaks and the inflections of the rockiness of his voice that he notices. “Everyone’s auditions.”

Dean decides that Castiel’s a little awkward, which explains the pause. And that’s fine, honestly. It means he has less of a chance of scaring him away if they’re both awkward. Or maybe that makes things worse. Especially since Castiel seems to be quiet-awkward and Dean’s a little more loud-awkward. “Yeah, thanks.” Dean walks away quickly after that without waiting for an answer, handing his audition form to Meyer, before starting back up the stairs. He’s stopping next to Castiel’s seat again before he can realize what he’s doing. “I really liked the script, by the way,” he says, invisible strings out of Dean’s control pulling at the corners of his mouth as he grins again. "I usually can't read a lot at a time, but I finished it in one night."

Castiel looks at him. “You did?” he asks. “Well...I’m glad.” There’s another pause, and his eyes look down, like he’s thinking about what to say. Dean opens his mouth to save him the trouble, but Castiel speaks again before he can. “Who’s um...who’s your favourite…?” he asks, hesitantly, as far as Dean can tell.

“Oh…” Dean’s face goes hot. “I kinda like Emmanuel-slash-Emmanuelle, I guess…” he says, toning down his pure adoration for the character so as not to seem like he’s lost his mind. He doesn’t need Castiel thinking he’s crazy. He’s kind of liking him, and he wants to be friends with him if he can. “They’re cool.”

Castiel’s expression is unreadable, and it makes Dean remember the nerves he felt before about the audition, as well as adding an extra layer of nervousness having to do with what Castiel is thinking about him. There’s a moment of silence between them, filled with the low hum and occasional screech or song voice from the other students in the theatre. “I’m glad. I personally prefer their love interest. Alex.”

Dean nods. “Alexander’s my middle name,” he says without really thinking about it, and he wants to kick himself, because Jesus Christ, _no one cares._

“Really?” Castiel’s smile is warm when Dean realizes their eyes are gazing at each other. His heart starts to float again, for a second. “Interesting.”

Dean nods, looking around. “Yeah, my mom’s idea I think…” he says. “But uh, yeah. Just wanted to let you know I really liked it and I’m real excited for it.” He shrugs slightly. “That scene at the end? With the bench? I really loved the idea of-”

“Everybody find a seat,” Meyer’s voice cuts neatly through the air. “We’re gonna start soon.” Dean starts slightly as he looks over at the teacher, then back at Castiel.

“Never mind, I liked it. Talk to you later.” He smiles. “Wish me luck?”

Castiel nods once. “Good luck, Dean.”

Dean’s smile stretches into a grin again. “Yeah, and you have fun with casting!” he says as he walks back up to his seat near the back with Charlie and a newly arrived Benny.

“Tryin’ to convince the director to give you the lead role, Winchester?” Benny says teasingly as he sits down between them. Dean glances at him and rolls his eyes.

“No, I was just helping him feel more welcome. No one else seemed to be talking to him last club meeting, and no one was talking to him today.” He shrugs, not mentioning that he actually started talking to Castiel because he nearly tripped and killed himself on the stairs. Meyer calls Castiel over, and Dean watches him go, before looking back at Benny. “Except for Meyer.”

Charlie hums, raising her eyebrow slightly. “Uh-huh. So you don’t want to get the lead role?” she asks. Dean shrugs, looking down.

"I mean, I wouldn't mind. Emmanuel is my favourite character, but…" He trails off.

"Well, shit, Dean…" Benny says, and Dean looks up at her. "Looks like you n' me are competition."

Dean blinks slowly, and he feels like the air in the room gets sucked out for just a moment, before being forced back in. Fuck. Of course. Of course the one time Dean actually has a character he _wants_ to play, instead of just wanting to be a part of the show, someone else is auditioning specifically for that part. Of course it's someone he knows. He doesn't want to have Benny be upset if he gets the part instead of them, but he doesn't want to give it up either. He panics. Fucking hell. "Sorry, I didn't know-"

"Relax, brother," Benny says, putting their hand on Dean's gently. "No hard feelings if one of us gets the part and the other doesn't, right?"

Dean stiffens, then relaxes slightly. He finds himself smiling at Benny and turns his hand up to give his a small squeeze. "Yeah…no hard feelings." He looks into the celestial blue of Benny's eyes and nods once. They nod back. Dean looks away just as Meyer starts talking again, and he pulls his hand away. He and Benny are best friends, kind of. Charlie's his best friend, too, but he hasn't known her as long. Benny was his friend when John was still alive. Charlie didn't come until almost a year later. She knows Dean lost his dad. She doesn't know how complicated it is. Benny knows. He knows a lot, a lot about what Dean's dad did to Dean for things he couldn't control. A lot that no one else knows. And maybe no one else will, but maybe not. Benny's been there, seen him in a lot of dark places and a lot of good places. But. There's still stuff that even Benny doesn't know. Stuff Dean doesn't think he'll ever tell anyone.

"Can I have Dean come up and read for Emmanuel, Jonathan, come up and read for Alex, Jen for Rivers?" Meyer's voice pushes into Dean's thoughts. Dean stands up, grabs his script, and walks onto the stage. "Top of page thirty three, please," Meyer adds. Dean nods and turns to the page. He glances over the seats until he spots Castiel, and then he looks at the script and starts reading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed that chapter, comments and kudos are appreciated!! have a lovely day/night <3


	4. four.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have been, you guessed it, writing instead of doing homework. i will get my assignments done, though. who needs sleep, anyways.
> 
> warning for some abuse and suicidal ideation in this chapter

_c.n._

To say that Dean’s a good actor would be one of the biggest lies Castiel has ever told, and that’s saying something, coming from them. He’s not a good actor at all. He’s amazing. The ease with which he gets into character, and just as simply gets back to being himself, is beautiful to watch. And from the first reading, despite him reading for Emmanuel(le), Castiel knows that Dean Winchester is Alex. It’s like he was born to play the role. Perhaps Castiel is just biased. Alex and Dean are similar in many ways, and perhaps that’s what leads to the casting choice. But truthfully, to not cast Dean as Alex would be a crime and a sin. He is everything Castiel imagined, without realizing, Alex to be. And more. So much more. He’s perfect, from an artistic, writer’s standpoint.

Of course.

All from a writer’s standpoint.

Nothing more.

Dean is aesthetically pleasing, yes. But nothing more.

The rest of the casting is much more difficult, and by the end of the auditions, Castiel has two or three possibilities for every other character. Meyer asks if they need to do callbacks, but they assure him that they don’t need them. They tell him they’ll email the cast list to him by tomorrow.

His mother is home when Castiel arrives, and though he tries to avoid her, he’s unsuccessful in those attempts. He always is, when she’s in the house. The ghosts of the corridors in the large building always find him and lead her to him.

_He can never be far from her._

_No matter how hard he tries._

“Castiel,” she says, and Castiel is silently grateful that they put their director’s notes into their bag before coming in. They stop in the hallway on the way to their room and turn to look at her. “You’re home later than I thought.”

Castiel nods once, attempting to ignore the increase in his pulse and the way his lungs want to take in far too much air than they should. He holds her gaze. “I’ve begun tutoring,” he lies easily. “I’m helping someone with their Physics work.”

“Name?”

“Dean.” It’s the first name that comes to mind.

“Grade?”

“Senior.”

“Last name?”

“I don’t know.”

“Castiel-”

“I don’t know. It didn’t come up in conversation.”

Naomi’s hand comes out and grabs his hair, tugging his head sharply to the side in a way that makes his neck sting with a needle-like pain. He bites back a curse. “Don’t speak to me like that,” she says, before pulling hard, then letting go. Castiel’s jaw clenches, but he nods once.

“Sorry, momma,” he mumbles, refusing to pull his eyes away from hers. As if she’ll do much worse if he does. She’s a few inches shorter than him. He could probably overpower her. But she’s terrifying; it’s no wonder all his siblings left the moment they were old enough and could support themselves. Castiel wishes he could, too. But he can’t, at least not yet, and so he stays. He doesn’t talk back to his mother because he doesn’t want to face any of the consequences that would come with standing up for himself. Silence means safety, or something close enough. She smiles. Castiel’s stomach twists, and they want to vomit.

“It’s alright, sweetie,” she says with softness that is a complete and terrible contrast to her voice moments before. “Dinner’s in the oven. We’ll eat in half an hour, okay?”

Castiel nods again. “Okay, momma. Sorry for not telling you about the tutoring.”

Naomi waves her hand dismissively. Castiel pretends they don’t flinch at the movement. “It’s no problem, Castiel. Just tell me next time you have to stay out late, okay?”

Castiel finally looks away and nods. “Okay.” He turns back around and moves to his room without another word, afraid more words will rip the truth out of him and gut him as they do. He closes the door, the door with no lock, and he sets his bag down at the foot of the bed with a sigh. He kicks off his shoes, pretending the events in the hallway didn’t happen, pretending that his neck doesn’t still sting. Pretending his insides don’t want to spill everything in them. He doesn’t want to die. He just wants to sleep forever.

He doesn’t sleep at all, however, instead going down to the kitchen for dinner. Naomi does the majority of the talking, and Castiel just nods, and they smile, and they react, acting like they’re alright. When both of them have finished eating, Castiel returns to their room. They wait until after eleven thirty before taking their director’s notes from their bag; their mother goes to bed at eleven. They can’t risk her opening the door and seeing. They look over the notes and cross out names and circle other names, and over and over until they have a list. They pull out their phone and type up an email for Meyer with the cast, and then they tuck everything away into their bag and change into night clothes. The stars outside the window are dimmed.

Castiel doesn’t sleep until much, much later. He closes his eyes and waits for sleep to find him, hoping it can in the house that’s big, but not big enough to hide in. Sleep is one of the many ghosts that roam the hallways. It’s one of the only ghosts that brings him comfort. The others are suffocating. The house is suffocating. He can’t breathe when he’s here, and even worse when he knows Naomi is here.

He waits and waits, and when sleep comes, he dreams of nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes. well, i hope you enjoyed this chapter, it was a little shorter than the rest, but most of them will be around 1500 words, if not more, so yeah :)
> 
> leave a comment if you liked it!!
> 
> have a magnificent day/night <3


	5. five.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updates might be a little more spread out on all my fics until winter break starts due to school work, just so y'all know :,) some new characters in this chapter!!

_ d.w. _

Dean’s heart drops to the centre of the earth when he doesn’t see his name next Emmanuel on the cast list outside the theatre Monday morning before school. He can practically hear the squishy thud as it hits whatever’s in the middle of the planet. So. Today is ruined. Fun. He knows he might just be overreacting. Especially because his name is on the list, even if it’s not next to Emmanuel. But he can’t ignore the deadly disappointment that weighs him down and makes him want to break down. He’s definitely overreacting now, but he can’t help it. He feels like he might cry. But he’s Dean fucking Winchester, so he bites it all back. If Dean just went around letting everyone know how he felt, then...well. Things probably wouldn’t be good.

He doesn’t even notice the rest of the names on the list for a solid few seconds, because he’s too busy trying to reel his heart back up into his chest. It’s only when he feels an arm slither around his shoulder and squeeze that he jumps and pays attention to the rest of the cast for a moment, before looking for the owner of the arm. He sees Benny’s grinning face staring back at him, and he manages to smile back. “Congratulations, brother,” they say, and Dean nods once, stealing another glance at the cast list. He sees Benny’s name, and he sees it right where he wishes he could see his own. But he guesses it’s better than anyone else got it. It makes him feel less disappointed, if only a little. Very little.

“Yeah, congrats to you too, sweetheart,” he says, still smiling a smile that might be real and might be fake. Might be both. Benny’s arm leaves from around Dean’s shoulder.

“Don’t you go bein’ jealous, now…” he says, obviously joking, but Dean can’t help but feel called out. He just rolls his eyes slightly.

“Pft, me? Jealous? Nah, I’m happy for you. Really.”

Benny grins again, opening their mouth to speak again, but Dean feels someone punch his shoulder. He flinches and turns to glare at Charlie, who just giggles. “Congrats, bitches!” she says, and Dean’s glare turns to a small smile as he looks down.

“Thanks, Charlie,” he says just as Benny gives a ‘thank you’. Dean steals another glance at the cast list. His eyes find Charlie’s name under the actors. He spots Sam’s, too, and he’s surprised to see he applied for tech, but reminds himself to congratulate his brother later, because he’s nowhere to be seen at the moment. “Oh, congrats on getting into tech!”

Charlie laughs. “Well, duh. I always get into tech.” She beams. Dean smiles a bit more. Okay, maybe he isn’t terribly disappointed. Just kind-of-sort-of-very-seven-out-of-ten disappointed. Which isn’t as bad as a few minutes ago. At least he got in, right? That’s good. It could probably be worse. He could’ve not gotten in at all. Especially with the cast being so small. He would’ve been a complete mess if that had happened. Overdramatic, maybe, but fuck, that would’ve been awful. He’s dependent on theatre for a lot of things for various reasons; without it, he’d be lost.

He spots a flash of dark brown in the corner of his eye, and he turns his head to see Castiel in a coffee coloured, oversized sweater trying to get through the crowd of students gathered near the theatre door. Dean squeezes between bodies to walk over to him, not really thinking about it as he taps his shoulder. “Hey,” he says with a lazy grin. Castiel turns to look at him so quickly that it looks like he almost falls over. Dean raises his hands slightly on instinct, as if he might need to catch the other student, before he lowers them again. Castiel seems to regain his balance, and he smiles at Dean. It’s a tiny smile that seems tired. Come to think of it, Castiel  _ looks _ tired.

“Hello, Dean…” he says, and the sound of rocks scraping and engines rumbling in his voice sounds duller and more exhausted. Dean’s smile fades a bit.

“You okay?” he asks, taking a small step closer to give space for people passing by them. Castiel seems to hesitate, though maybe that’s just Dean’s imagination, before nodding.

“Yes, I was just-” He holds up a folder in his hands, or where his hands would be if they weren’t covered in sweater. “I was up late writing blocking notes. I need to find Meyer.”

Dean nods once, glancing around. “Right, I won’t bother you, then. I’ll see you later!”

Castiel shakes his head. “No...I mean, you’re not bothering me, but yes, I’ll see you after school at rehearsal,” he says, readjusting his bag on his shoulder with one hand and looking down at his folder as he starts to turn. Dean’s smile fades completely.

“You what?”

Castiel looks up at him and stops his departure. He has the faint beginnings of dark circles under his eyes. “At- At rehearsal? Didn’t you see the cast list?”

Dean nods, before shaking his head and looking at the list posted near the door. He reads through it again, and he sees the words ‘First rehearsal TODAY AFTER SCHOOL!!’ under the cast and crew. “Oh. I have a feeling a lot of people aren’t gonna see that…” He pulls out his phone and snaps a picture of the bottom of the sheet of paper stuck to the wall. “I’m just gonna make a cast groupchat and send it in case anyone else missed it.” He looks back at Castiel. “Wanna be a part of it? Since you’re the writer and director and all.”

Castiel’s eyes dart from Dean to the cast list to Dean, before he nods slightly. “Um...sure.”

Dean smiles and pulls up a new contact, before passing his phone to Castiel for him to put his number in. He taps his foot absently as he waits, trying to look anywhere but Castiel because he doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable or anything by staring at him.

“Thanks…” He passes the phone back. Dean nods and smiles.

“Nah, thank  _ you  _ for writing this awesome play,” he says, and Castiel’s eyes roll slightly as the small, tired smile comes to his face again. “Really, Cas...it’s gonna be a cool-ass show.” The nickname slips before he can stop it, and he mentally kicks himself in the shins. “Sorry, can I call you Cas?” he quickly amends. “It’s perfectly fine if you don’t want me to, ya know, I get it.”

Castiel seems a bit stunned for some reason, but the smile remains. He nods quickly after a moment. “No, it’s fine, I-” He stops momentarily. “It’s fine.”

Dean nods, grinning. Cas’ smile grows. But it’s still tired. Dean assumes that he must’ve blocked the whole play last night, to be this tired. Dean clears his throat. “I’ll let you go, Meyer should be in there.” He points at the theatre door. Cas follows where his pointing with his eyes, before the rest of his body moves in that direction.

“Thank you, see you soon!” he says as he disappears into the smaller theatre. Dean takes a deep breath as he looks down at his phone and quickly changes ‘Castiel’ to ‘Cas’ in the new contact. He starts towards his first class, slowly, because he’s still staring down at his phone so he can make the groupchat for the cast. He has the numbers of almost everyone in the theatre club, so it doesn’t take too long before he has a groupchat created. He adds Sam and Charlie in, even though they’re doing tech, just because.

**_deanbean has created a chat._ **

**_deanbean has changed the chat name to ‘PAD’_ **

**_deanbean: hey strangers, the cast has a gc now_ **

**_deanbean: castiel is part of this too, so say hello_ **

**_chesterwinsam: hey_ **

**_chesterwinsam: what the hell is PAD?_ **

**_deanbean: paint and divinity_ **

**_chesterwinsam: okay but. PAD?_ **

**_vampirate: hey y’all_ **

**_vampirate: especially castiel_ **

**_deanbean: yes, sam, pad_ **

**_deanbean: hiya benny_ **

**_kingohell: hello_ **

**_garthed: hi!_ **

**_notbela: hello, everyone_ **

**_cassie: heyyy_ **

**_charredhearts: hello!!_ **

**_deanbean: welcome all!!_ **

**_chesterwinsam: is jess in here?_ **

**_deanbean: no, she’s a freshman, i didn’t have her number_ **

**_chesterwinsam has added justjess_ **

**_chesterwinsam: some of us have weird names, we should introduce ourselves for castiel or in case anyone doesn’t know._ **

**_deanbean: okay_ **

**_deanbean: i’m dean winchester_ **

**_deanbean: i’m an aquarius_ **

**_notbela: we don’t need your whole life story, dean._ **

**_notbela: as deceptive as my name here may be, i’m bela._ **

**_notbela: also why are the tech people in here?_ **

**_deanbean: because tech is underappreciated and deserves recognition <3_ **

**_deanbean: also i adore charlie, she’s a little sister to me, and sam’s actually my little brother, so_ **

**_charredhearts: awww_ **

**_charredhearts: i’m charlie <33_ **

**_vampirate: my name’s benny_ **

**_charredhearts: *applause commences for our lord and savior benny lafitte*_ **

**_deanbean: *applause continues*_ **

**_kingohell: *applause stops as all of you are brutally murdered for being too loud*_ **

**_notbela: lmao_ **

**_deanbean: :(_ **

**_kingohell: i’m crowley :/_ **

**_notbela: :///_ **

**_cassie: i’m, not surprisingly, cassie <3_ **

**_garthed: i’m garth!!!_ **

**_justjess: hey, i’m jess_ **

**_deanbean: awesome, i think that’s everyone_ **

**_beestiel: hello everyone, this is castiel, i’m only just now seeing these messages, but it’s wonderful to meet all of you :)_ **

**_beestiel: i won’t be extremely active in here during school hours, but i want you all to know that i’m extremely excited for this show and i know you’ll all do amazing._ **

**_beestiel: don’t forget the first rehearsal is after school!!_ **

**_vampirate: thank you castiel!!_ **

**_deanbean: thanks cas!!_ **

**_charredhearts: thank u!!_ **

**_garthed: i’m so excited omg_ **

**_notbela: i am as well._ **

**_kingohell: perhaps i am, too_ **

**_justjess: i definitely am_ **

**_cassie: same!!_ **

The disappointment has diminished just a bit more, Dean realizes as he puts his phone away. It’s still there and it still really sucks that he can’t be the character he wanted to be, but he’s confident Benny will do a good job, so he’s not terrified of how it’ll go. He still feels like he might cry, but he tries not to think about it at all. He’s good at that. At ignoring his feelings and numbing himself to them until any emotion he shows is fake. Like what he did after John died. What he still does with the emotions that came with that. Maybe that’s why he’s so good at acting. Maybe. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. He has a small feeling that this will be great, and he focuses on that instead of the way he feels let down. He focuses on that and the fact that Cas probably knows what he’s doing. He wrote the play, after all. It’ll be fine.

It’ll all be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the cast list, just to get an idea of who all is playing who and stuff:
> 
> emmanuel-benny  
> alex-dean  
> rivers-cassie  
> finn-garth  
> taylor-bela  
> oakley-jess  
> gray-crowley
> 
> there's also a few extras and minor background characters, but they're not extremely important to know and dean didn't add them to the gc because he doesn't know them as well since they're probably mostly freshman and he's not super close to them, so here we are skldfjlks
> 
> i don't have a specific plot for what the play cas wrote is actually about, but basically, emmanuel struggles with things in life, and their best friend alex helps them through it. emmanuel realizes they're in love with alex, and yeah, that's about all i got so far since i'm not going into a lot of detail in this fic on what the play is about other than emanuelex :) i have a few specific scenes in mind for the play, but they don't have much to do with an overall plot, so yeah <3
> 
> comments and kudos are very much appreciated, have a lovely day/night!!


	6. six.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no one's happiness is safe, especially this early in the fic.
> 
> the following is kind of based on true events,,,,,,,,
> 
> warning for some homophobia and abuse mentions

_d.w._

It’s not even slightly all fine.

Rehearsal had been going okay. They all had just finished reading through and were about to begin some of the blocking for the first scene when Dean heard it. It was one of the younger kids who’s playing one of the passersby and other restaurant goers in a few of the scenes, Jonathan. He’d been talking to Jess and Sam, because even though tech doesn’t need to be here until Wednesday, Dean usually drives Sam home. But that’s not the point.

They’d somehow gotten on the topic of kids, and Jonathan had been going on and on about how he wanted a son, to teach him to go hunting, blah blah. Sam and Jess looked uncomfortable. Dean had heard, but didn’t mention the fact that anyone could hunt if they wanted to, not just boys. He doesn’t do well in conflict, because he snaps, so he tries to avoid it. He always gets too angry too quickly and people end up getting hurt. He ends up hurt sometimes, too, but that’s not as important. Conflict and Dean just don’t mix, so Dean doesn’t get involved in it, and he didn’t want to get involved with it just then. 

But the moment Jonathan said, “And if my son comes home crying ‘cause some kid bullied him at school, I’m gonna slap him and tell him that he’s gotta fight back, because no son of mine is gonna be a _pussy,”_ was the moment Dean really couldn’t hold back anymore. He laughed. He didn’t mean to. It just came out. He fucking laughed.

“That’s disgusting,” he’d said. Jonathan had looked at him, expression unreadable.

“What?” he’d asked. Dean knew he should shut up. But he repeated himself, more loudly. Jonathan hadn’t liked it. An argument broke out. Jonathan went on about how he could do whatever he wanted when he had kids and how it would only be to make his kid stronger, and when Dean argued right back and insisted it was gross to think like that and that a dad who really cared about their kid wouldn’t hit them or be like that with them and would help them, Jonathan had tried to play it off as a joke.

Dean was fuming at that point. Everything just happened so fast. He felt like he wasn’t in control of himself, and he wasn’t thinking about anything except how bad he wanted Jonathan to shut up forever.

Dean punched him hard.

Sam swore loudly and got between the two of them before Dean could swing again. He pushed Dean back, and Dean silently cursed his brother for almost being taller than him now. It wasn’t fair. Or maybe it was. It didn’t seem like it in the moment. In the moment, Dean wanted to hit Jonathan again and again and tell him that he should never have kids and scream at him for saying or even thinking about doing that, because _fucking hell,_ it hit too close to home. All he could think about, all he _can_ think about as he sits alone in the theatre waiting for Sonny to come and talk with Meyer about what happened, is John Winchester. He wants to cry. He wants to cry because his dad was a piece of shit, because he was awful to him and sometimes Sammy, because he’s gone, because he almost misses him, because he hates himself for almost missing him.

A fucking dam of numbing and blocking has just fucking snapped, and now Dean’s a fucking mess, and of fucking _course,_ all this had to happen on the first fucking day of rehearsal. Dean finds himself forgetting about John for just a moment as he wonders if Cas saw, then forgets that too and wonders how it is that he and Sam are the only people here. Meyer had ended rehearsal when he saw what happened, and everyone had left in what felt like a flash. It all felt like a flash. One moment, he was actually kind of enjoying himself, actually kind of excited to play this part and get started on this play, and then next moment, Jonathan had opened his stupid mouth and probably ruined Dean’s chance of even being in the play. Well. Dean ruined his own chances. He could’ve told Jonathan off without punching him. Dean’s really just an idiot. An idiot for losing control, and an idiot for thinking that anything even remotely nice would last long. Everything happy always ends in a flash. Always flips over and changes directions before Dean can blink.

His mind wanders to Cas again, wondering if Cas hates him, before returning to thoughts of John. It takes everything in him not to cry right now. The only thing that keeps him from it is Meyer sitting in a chair a few feet away from the audience seats, glancing at him every so often. Sam is sitting a few seats behind where Dean is. It’s quiet. Dean shifts, biting at his lip and pulling at a loose string from his flannel.

Footsteps. Sonny walks into the theatre, and Dean refuses to look at him. Sonny doesn’t say anything for a moment, and when he does, it’s to Meyer. The two adults start talking, and Dean tunes out of their conversation, staring at a spot on the floor and allowing himself to get lost in thoughts of pain and yelling and anger anger anger anger anger anger anger _anger anger-_

That’s all Dean is, in the end. He can pretend he isn’t. He can pretend he’s getting better, that he’s happier, that he’s moving on. But something will always happen to break that pretense, and then Dean’s just a shell. A shell with residual anger, a result of repressing so many things for so long, that he can never get rid of. Sonny tries to help. If Dean’s being honest, maybe he does, just a little. But if you take one step forward and three steps back, you’re still moving back. Slow improvement isn’t good enough. Nobody should waste that much time and effort on Dean. He’s not worth it.

Sonny’s hand is on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean just about jumps out of his skin as he looks up at him. He quickly tears his gaze away again. “Dean...” Sonny says. “It’s time to go.” Dean just stands, eyes still downcast. He’s too embarrassed to look at him right now. The three of them leave the theatre, and the entire journey to the car feels slow. The flash, the flip of the switch is over now. Any excitement is gone. The disappointment Dean felt about not getting Emmanuel is now filled with a worse disappointment about probably not even being able to be in the play at all.

It’s when they reach the car that Dean starts crying. And once he starts, he can’t stop. He just cries and cries, and Sonny wraps him in a hug, and he just cries into his shoulder like it’s the end of the world. And as far as Dean’s concerned, it might as well be.

Around an hour later, they’re at Sonny’s place. It’s a small house, and the silhouette of the bigger house that is the boys’ home a couple hundred feet away is a contrast against the darkening sky outside Dean’s window. Dean’s just sitting on the bed. Sonny sits in a chair across from him. Neither of them speak. Dean risks a few glances upwards, but won’t look at Sonny otherwise. Sam’s in bed, but probably not asleep. He always stays up late doing some sort of reading or homework.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Sonny finally says after their extended period of silence. Dean snorts a choked-up laugh.

“Meyer probably already told you, I don’t think you need to hear it again,” he mutters, his left knee bouncing just slightly as he sits. Sonny sighs audibly.

“Meyer just said you punched a kid. He doesn’t know why. You have the full story.”

Dean inhales sharply and dares to look up and keep his eyes stuck on Sonny’s. “He deserved it,” he blurts out. “The kid, he deserved it.”

“I’m not denying it, I just wanna know how it happened.”

“He was just. Saying dumb shit. Kept talking about how he wanted a son one day and how he wasn’t gonna let him be a ‘pussy’, and stupid shit like that.” Dean pauses. “He sounded like my dad.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “He deserved it,” he adds after a moment, more loudly. Sonny nods.

“Maybe he did,” he says softly. “I don’t think you should’ve hit him.”

Dean swallows. “Me neither,” he admits. Sonny leans forward in his chair. For a moment, Dean’s brain questions if he should tell Sonny. Not more details about the punching, but about...well. About him being bi. It’s really dumb. It doesn’t have anything to do with this, so he doesn’t know why he thinks of it. Or maybe it does. Maybe it has everything to do with it. Come to think of it, replace the word ‘pussy’ with ‘pansy’ and Jonathan basically quoted Dean’s father. Maybe saying two little words could help him take two steps forward instead of one. Maybe-

“Are you okay?”

Dean pushes the thought away. It’s just his brain jumping from thought to thought like it always does. Sonny doesn’t need to know that he’s not just into girls. He doesn’t need to admit that to anyone else. Sam knows, most of the theatre club knows, that should be enough. It’s...irrelevant. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Define sure.”

Sonny’s lips press into a thin line. Dean looks down. “Dean, we don’t have to talk about whatever you feel yet. But just think about what you wanna say. I’ll listen.”

Dean chews at his lip. “I know.”

“Did you hear what Meyer said?”

Dean shakes his head.

“I asked him to keep you on the cast after however long your suspension’ll be.”

Dean closes his eyes. “What’d he say?”

“Said it wasn’t up to him.”

Dean nods and opens his eyes. “Cas.” He sighs. “Castiel,” he corrects. Cas probably doesn't want him to call him the nickname anymore.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll text him sometime.”

Sonny stands after another moment of silence, places a hand gently on his head and ruffles his hair. “Get some rest, Dee-Dawg.” He’s smiling when Dean glances up. He can’t help but smile just a bit, and it feels wrong.

“Yeah.”

Sonny leaves his room, and Dean lies back on the bed. At least he still has a chance to stay on the cast. A chance at recovering a little bit of happiness, maybe. Though it doesn’t feel like a big one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what jonathan said is basically exactly what one of my classmates said a couple weeks ago during a health class, and i very nearly did punch him. it was a weird experience.
> 
> n e ways, i know i said i would be posting more scarcely, but i finished my schoolwork and decided to write another chapter. i hope you enjoyed it :,)
> 
> have a fantastic day/night <3


	7. seven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, back with another chapter. expect a lot of texting, angst, then a tiny bit of not angst, followed by, of course, more ✨ angst ✨
> 
> warnings for some abuse mentions and some suicidal ideation

_ c.n. _

Castiel’s just beginning to find sleep when he hears the faint but familiar buzz of his phone against his mattress. He feels as if the whole bed vibrates as well, forcing his eyes to open and his body to sit up. There is a second buzz, and Castiel stares at his phone as if it might bite him, before picking it up and searching his notifications for the source of the buzzing at two in the morning.

**_deanbean: hey, i know you’re probably asleep but_ **

**_deanbean: i’m really sorry for punching that kid and ruining rehearsal_ **

Castiel blinks slowly at their phone. Their brain doesn’t function well enough to respond for a few moments. They think that Dean’s messaging the groupchat at first, but then they realize it’s a private message. Another message pops up.

**_deanbean: i also really like your groupme name, but that’s not the point_ **

Castiel shifts on the bed to lie on his stomach, propping his elbows on the pillow and typing a response back.

**_beestiel: hey. not asleep._ **

**_beestiel: thank you, i like your groupme name, too_ **

**_beestiel: can i ask why you punched jonathan?_ **

There’s a few minutes of pause. Castiel nearly falls asleep again.

**_deanbean: he was being a dick_ **

**_beestiel: what did he do?_ **

**_deanbean: he just said shitty things_ **

**_beestiel: okay_ **

**_beestiel: i’m sorry for prying._ **

**_deanbean: it’s fine_ **

**_deanbean: the school will probably call tomorrow to say how long my suspension is_ **

**_beestiel: how long do you think?_ **

**_deanbean: most schools do three days for first offence_ **

**_deanbean: which this is_ **

The way the second message comes just a bit later makes Castiel doubt.

**_beestiel: i can give you the blocking notes we’ll go over the next few days_ **

**_deanbean: oh_ **

**_deanbean: you still want me in the play?_ **

**_beestiel: yes._ **

**_beestiel: you’re a fantastic actor, and it sounds like jonathan might have deserved it, or at least was provoking you_ **

**_beestiel: i don’t think you’re entirely to blame._ **

**_deanbean: thanks_ **

**_beestiel: just avoid punching people in the future, please._ **

**_deanbean: don’t worry, i will_ **

**_deanbean: sorry for ruining rehearsal again_ **

**_beestiel: don’t worry about it._ **

**_deanbean: okay_ **

**_beestiel: are you alright?_ **

**_deanbean: yeah?_ **

**_beestiel: you’re sure?_ **

**_deanbean: yeah_ **

**_deanbean: i’ll let you sleep_ **

Castiel finds themself not wanting the conversation to end. They want to keep talking to the aesthetically pleasing boy that seems to have been born to play their favourite character in the play they’ve written. They want to keep talking to Dean until they physically can’t type anymore, because it's a momentary escape from the house in which they live. But they can’t say that. Dean probably wants to sleep, or doesn’t want to talk to them anymore. They can’t ask that he stay up with them just because they suddenly feel more alone.

**_beestiel: goodnight, dean :)_ **

**_deanbean: night cas_ **

He stares at the message until the phone screen goes black. He then sets it back in its spot next to him on the bed and closes his eyes, but sleep is once again scarce. So he lies there and waits for it as he always does. It doesn’t come at all, and Castiel tries not to think of fixing that problem by never waking up in the first place.

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


_ d.w. _

Sonny knocks on Dean’s door at some point in the morning to tell Dean that he’s taking Sam to school and that Dean’s suspension does end up being three days. Dean nods. He knew it. It’s not the first time he’s been suspended for hitting someone. First time in this school, though. Which is a miracle, honestly, considering he’s been here for over two years. Especially right after John’s death. Dean had been really unstable after that.

He tries to push thoughts of John and suspension away as Sonny adds, “Tow truck should come back with your car from the school sometime.” Dean’s confused for a moment as to why his car is being towed. And then he remembers leaving last night, crying so hard he couldn’t drive his own car. Sonny had driven both Dean and Sam home. Ha. The thoughts of John persist. His dad’d been driving the Impala when he died. Dean remembers seeing it after the accident, seeing the front bent forward and hugging the tree that was about ready to fall over, all of it surrounded in a sea of shattered glass. He remembers that, and he remembers fire. And then he remembers  _ the _ fire. He feels sick, first thing in the morning. But he thanks Sonny, who smiles and nods, before leaving. Dean closes his door again, before curling up in bed and trying to find something to do on his phone to keep himself from thinking of punching and Fiddler and crashing and burning. He finds the conversation with Cas still open, and his mouth curves into the tiniest smile. At least there’s still the play. At least there’s that.

He still feels like absolute shit.

He sighs and decides he might as well message Benny to pass the time. They always answer texts quickly, no matter where they are, somehow. It’s a gift, honestly. Dean wants to message Charlie, too, but she has computer coding and programming around this time, and she usually doesn’t answer messages during that class. Not because she’s interested in learning what they teach, she already knows it all, but because she’s on a computer for fifty minutes and she gets to work on all these cool projects and shit that involve computer coding and stuff. She’s a genius when it comes to computers.

Dean types up the first message to Benny with one hand as he heads down to Sonny’s liquor cabinet. The thing’s locked, but Dean’s seen where Sonny hides the keys, so naturally, he takes advantage of that and drinks some. Only when he really needs it. He doesn’t drink a lot, either. He’s only gotten drunk twice in his life. Once at the first and only big party he ever went to, back when he went to a different school. It was his freshman year, and there was alcohol in the drinks, and his head hurt really bad when he woke up the next morning. John hadn’t been happy to get a call that he had to pick up his son from a party because he couldn’t stand up properly. Not happy at all.

Speaking of John, the second time had been after his dad had crashed and died. He’d sat in the broken remains of the Impala after it had been brought to Sonny’s, and he’d drunk until he’d fallen asleep. The car’s still there, in Sonny’s garage. Dean works on fixing it sometimes, though he doesn’t know why. Maybe because it’s a nice car. Maybe because, despite it all, he still wishes John weren’t dead and misses him. No, shut up.  _ Almost _ misses him.  _ Almost. _

Dean pushes the thoughts away again in favour of hitting send on his message to Benny, before getting the key from its hiding spot under the leg of the couch and opening the liquor cabinet.

**_deanbean: guess who got a three day vacation_ **

He carefully takes a bottle of whiskey and pours himself a small glass, before putting it back and locking the cabinet again. He returns the key to under the couch leg as his phone buzzes.

**_vampirate: damn, how hard did ya punch the kid?_ **

**_deanbean: hard enough that i get vacation, but not hard enough that i can’t do the play anymore_ **

**_deanbean: i talked to cas, he said i’m still in_ **

**_vampirate: he must really like you_ **

**_deanbean: it’s my perky nipples_ **

**_vampirate: the guy has never seen your nipples_ **

**_vampirate: or is there something you haven’t told me???_ **

**_deanbean: noooo, i’m just joking around lol_ **

**_vampirate: good, thought you were keeping secrets from me_ **

**_deanbean: no secrets_ **

**_vampirate: good <3_ **

**_deanbean: yes <3_ **

Dean sips at his whiskey as he waits for a response, sitting on the couch and switching on the TV.

**_vampirate: what you doing to pass the time?_ **

**_deanbean: whiskey and you_ **

**_vampirate: sounds very sexy_ **

**_deanbean: pls, that wasn’t supposed to sound like that_ **

**_vampirate: it’s okay, i laughed hard in the middle of class_ **

**_deanbean: good_ **

**_deanbean: what did mrs neal say about that_ **

**_vampirate: she rolled her eyes_ **

**_deanbean: so what she always does whenever you open your mouth in that class_ **

**_vampirate: shut it_ **

**_deanbean: :D_ **

**_vampirate: sigh_ **

**_vampirate: it’s lonely without you in this classroom :(_ **

**_deanbean: awww, miss me already?_ **

**_vampirate: always, darling_ **

**_deanbean: i’ll be back friday sweetheart_ **

**_vampirate: not soon enough :/_ **

Dean knows he should probably end the conversation soon, because Benny needs to work on schoolwork. But he's a selfish piece of shit, so he plans to keep going. He can only hope Benny won’t mind.

**_deanbean: you’re clingy :/_ **

He gets no immediate response. He doesn’t get a response five minutes later, either. Or ten. Fifteen. Dean tries to turn his focus to the TV, but he can’t.

**_deanbean: that’s a joke, btw_ **

No response. Twenty. Dean panics. Benny probably did mind. They’re probably thinking that Dean’s being annoying. And he is. Benny’s one of his best friends. And good friends don’t fucking message people when they’re supposed to be paying attention in class. Fuck, fuck, fuck, Dean’s fucked up. He’s annoyed Benny, just like he annoys everyone, all because he was selfish and needed a distraction and-

**_vampirate: i know, don’t worry_ **

**_vampirate: sorry for taking so long, neal took my phone_ **

**_deanbean: shit sorry, i didn’t mean to get your phone taken_ **

**_vampirate: no worries brother, not your fault :)_ **

**_deanbean: sorry to bother you_ **

**_vampirate: you weren’t bothering me_ **

Dean doesn’t answer that. He just tosses his phone beside him on the couch and starts flipping through the channels on the TV, though he’s not paying attention because his fucking brain is being fucking stupid and making him believe that his best fucking friend fucking hates him because he’s fucking annoying, and fucking fuck. Because no one really cares about Dean. No one cares about shells devoid of anything except anger. Maybe they care about the mask he pulls on to hide that, but they don’t actually care about him. Who could? He can’t blame anyone. It’s why he pushes people away. And still, he needs people to care. He needs the attention. He needs people to want him. Or pretend to, at least. But he won’t ask them to. He can’t. Ha. It’s really kinda funny, how damaged he is. Caught in an endless paradox of push away, and yet, need.

His phone buzzes. He checks it as he downs the last of his whiskey. He sees another message from Benny and a few from the cast groupchat that he ignores, but Cas’ GroupMe name catches his eye.

**_beestiel: you’re allowed to come to rehearsal_ **

**_beestiel: i asked, you can’t come to class, but you can come to rehearsal._ **

Despite it all, Dean smiles, just a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again writing instead of doing math, because why not <3
> 
> have a good day/night!!


	8. eight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, once again posting a chapter when i should be doing schoolwork, but what's new?
> 
> warnings for mentions of abuse and some suicidal ideation

_ c.n. _

Castiel watches the theatre entrance closely as cast members and crew pile in, waiting for blonde-brown hair and clear green eyes. It hadn’t been easy to convince the principal to allow Dean to come to rehearsal. Castiel had talked to her for at least an hour, and she had finally said yes. As long as he was under observation by Meyer at all times. Meyer had agreed to keep an eye on him.

A smile dances slowly against Castiels’ lips until they’re almost grinning when they see Dean walk in, and they stand from their seat and make their way down to where he’s looking around. He stops looking when he sees them, grinning the Christmas smile. “Hey, Cas!” he says, taking a step forward as Castiel stops in front of him. “Was just looking for you.” He shoves his hands into his jacket pockets. Castiel raises an eyebrow.

“Oh?” he says. Dean coming here makes sense. He seems to enjoy theatre, and he seemed excited enough for the show. But the idea of him wanting to see Castiel seems unfathomable. He’s not nearly good enough to be worthy of Dean’s attention. Not when Dean is, well, Dean. An artist’s dream.

“Yeah, I forgot my script at home,” Dean says, and Castiel registers his voice and how much he likes it before the actual words that are said. He pushes the thought away. Writer’s standpoint. “Sorry, I kinda left in a hurry, any chance you have any other scripts, or…?” Dean continues. Castiel nods quickly, without thinking.

“Of course, I have an extra copy in my bag,” they say, smiling softly and putting their hand quickly on Dean’s shoulder in a sort of friendly or reassuring gesture, before moving back to their seat to get the script from their bag. They become aware that they don’t know Dean nearly well enough to even be close to him, let alone touch him, and their face is hot when they return to him with the script. They want to hand it to him and then run away or disappear from embarrassment, but they manage to hold their ground as Dean takes the script. “Sorry, it’s just stapled together, but...you can take the blocking notes in there and put them in your binded script at home,” Castiel says, pushing one of his sleeves up a bit. Dean nods, his eyes looking over the front page of the script, before falling on Castiel.

“Thanks, buddy, I appreciate it,” he says. Castiel smiles slightly.

“Of course.”

Silence ensues for a few seconds, minus the talking of others around them. Castiel opens his mouth to break it, but he’s interrupted. “Dean,” comes a voice from right beside him, and Castiel flinches slightly. He turns and takes a step back as he sees the lead of the show, Benny Lafitte. Castiel doesn’t know much about them, other than that they and Dean seem close. Well. Especially now as Dean moves close and wraps an arm around their shoulder. Castiel’s stomach rolls, and he suddenly feels as if he’s interrupting something. He looks away.

“Hiya, Benny,” Dean says. “You met Cas yet?”

Castiel glances up at Benny, who smiles. “Not personally, no.” She raises an eyebrow slightly. “Hi, Cas.”

Castiel glances at Dean, then looks back at Benny. They notices their arm around Dean’s waist. They swallow. “Castiel,” they correct quickly, unsure of why they do it.

“My bad,” Benny says, smiling.

“You’re a friend of Dean’s?” Castiel asks. Benny hums.

“A good friend.” He looks at Dean. Castiel stares at him for a few moments, then looks at Dean as well. Dean looks at Benny, then looks at Castiel with the Christmas smile. Castiel looks down. Dean and Benny. Of course. They had such good chemistry during the auditions. Castiel’s surprised they didn’t realize it until now.

“Rehearsal starts in five minutes,” they tell Dean as they look at him, and specifically him, because something about Benny makes them feel uneasy. They can’t say what. They try to ignore the feeling, but it won’t leave. “We’re in the bigger theatre today.” They then turn to grab their bag, before heading to the auditorium without another word.

They go through scene three, and Castiel is as dazed and astonished, if not more, as he was the day of auditions by Dean’s acting abilities. To see the character of Alex come to life is wonderful. To see  _ all  _ the characters come to life. He has no regrets on casting. Cassie does amazing, Bela does amazing, Crowley does amazing, and despite the slight uneasiness in Castiel’s chest regarding Benny, they do amazing as well. It’s all Castiel could have hoped for, and more. He almost tears up when it’s five-thirty and they finish the last run through of those scenes. It seems like it’s over way too fast.

Castiel thanks the cast and crew, before packing their script back into their bag, then swinging it over their shoulder and heading for the exit. Someone taps their shoulder as they go, and they turn to see Dean walking behind them. They stop, as does he. “Are you sure you’re cool with me calling you Cas?” Dean says. “‘Cause you corrected Benny, and I don’t wanna call you that if it makes you uncomfortable or-”

“I’m okay with it,” Castiel interrupts, smiling slightly at him. “I just corrected him on instinct. I like ‘Cas’.” He shrugs, glancing around, then back at Dean.

“Okay, cool, just makin’ sure,” Dean says, nodding and grinning. Castiel smiles a bit more.

“Meyer and I were talking while you were all running through the blocking. I- We wanted to say you did fantastic.” They laugh slightly. “Everyone’s doing fantastic. But...you did well. I’m glad I chose you.” The wording of the last sentence sounds strange in Castiel’s mind, and they regret saying it. But Dean only laughs, throwing his head back as he does, his laughter echoing through the theatre and resonating in Castiel’s soul.

“Thanks?” he says, still grinning. “I’m glad you think so.”

Castiel nods, trying not to match his grin. Dean’s smile is contagious. “Of course. You and Benny...you have good chemistry.”

Dean laughs again, harder than before. Castiel swallows. Is he laughing at them? “Well, I mean, we’ve been friends for a while, ya know? I guess that helps chemistry wise.” He shrugs. Castiel nods, feeling suddenly self conscious.

“Oh. I thought you two were together,” he states simply. Dean raises an eyebrow.

“What, me and Benny?” he says, before waving his hand almost dismissively. Castiel watches it as it waves, almost afraid it’s coming for his face for the smallest fraction of a second. Not because of Dean; the fact that he punched someone hard enough to bruise only yesterday doesn’t scare him for an unknown reason. But in the movement, he sees his mother’s hands. He forces the thought into the dark recesses of his mind as best he can. “Nah, we’ve been friends for a while, though. We kinda had a thing when I first got here, but...we didn’t even kiss or see each other outside of school or anything, we just sorta held hands in the hallways. It was like a two week thing.” Dean shrugs. “Just friends now.”

Castiel nods again, meeting Dean’s eyes. They study the green, before looking down. “I should go,” they say, stomach tightening. “My mother doesn’t want me to stay later than six.” Naomi claws her way out of the ground and back into their brain as they turn to leave without waiting for a response from Dean.

“Oh- Uh...see ya tomorrow! Thanks for asking if I could come back for rehearsal!” Dean’s voice grows more distant as he speaks, because Castiel is intent on leaving the theatre and because thoughts of their mother make them tune out any noise.

The drive is once again short, but Castiel manages to stretch it into years. He wonders if anyone would miss him if he went to a lake and drove in. He can’t do it now, because he has the play. He has something to do. But perhaps when the production is over. Writing the play has kept him alive for five years, because he couldn’t die until it was finished. Now he can’t die because he’s directing it, but he can’t help but consider the possibility that he won’t find something to do after this. And then he’ll have no reason to continue. He’ll finally escape.

He makes his way quickly to his room once he is home, but as always, Naomi catches him. “Hey,” she says, softly, but behind her voice is a snake ready to strike. Castiel turns to look at her, and he smiles slightly. He hopes it doesn’t look as false as it is. “How was school?”

“Good,” Castiel responds, meeting her eyes and holding her gaze, even after it starts to hurt to do so.

“Did anything interesting happen?”

“No, nothing really. There were a few tests, but they were easy.”

“How’s Dean?”

For a moment, Castiel’s heart stops, and they think their mother’s found out about the production. Or worse, that she knows somehow about how Castiel finds Dean attractive, whether it be from an artistic standpoint or not. They then remember that they’re supposedly tutoring Dean in less than a second. “He’s good. Getting a bit better at his work. Still needs help, though.”

Naomi nods and smiles. “Algebra, right?” she asks. Castiel nearly nods, but catches himself.

“Physics,” he corrects. Naomi nods again, reaching out and gently placing her hand against Castiel’s cheek in what could be interpreted as a calming manner. To Castiel, it is his mother’s way of saying, “you are my child, I control you”. Because she is his mother, and he can’t escape her. Not yet. Naomi brushes her thumb over his cheek, before letting her hand drop.

“Dinner in ten?”

Castiel nods. “Dinner in ten,” they repeat, and they smile until they think they might be sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed that chapter, i have Ideas for this fic, hehe,,,,,,,
> 
> have a lovely day/night <3


	9. nine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bit of a shorter chapter bc homework but yeah <3 here it is
> 
> warnings for suicidal ideation, slight internalized homophobia, and mentions of abuse

_c.n._

The next week and a half of rehearsal goes well and without incident. It would be almost mundane if it weren’t for the talent everyone brought to it. Most of the set pieces are done by now, and all of it is coming together almost perfectly. It’s more than Castiel ever imagined it would be. He gets emotional when they get through the blocking of the final scene, despite the joking around and laughing that the actors keep doing throughout the scene. They all start clapping at the end, though. Castiel doesn’t cry, but he feels like he might. There’s three weeks left until performances. Three weeks of working rehearsals, polishing rehearsals, running rehearsals, tech rehearsals, dress rehearsals, and then performances. The thought of it is something Castiel is both looking forward to and dreading. Looking forward to seeing it all come alive. Dreading what will happen if, or when, the news of it gets to his mother.

Every night after the blocking rehearsals is spent stretching out the drive home and trying to spend as little time with Naomi as possible. Of course, inevitably, she always finds Castiel and speaks to them for at least a moment. Once when they get home from school, and once at dinner. She always asks them the same things: “Did anything interesting happen today?” and “How is Dean?”

Castiel always responds the same way: “Not really.” and “He’s getting a little better, still needs help, though.” He knows his mother will find out the truth eventually. He can only hope that the performances pass without incident. Anything that happens later is inconsequential, considering he may not be alive for long after. All that matters is that the play happens, and that Castiel can see it. Maybe it will be the last good thing in their life. Maybe they’ll miraculously live long enough to write another one and put it on as well. Who knows what the future brings? They certainly don’t, and they’d rather not think of it. They need to focus on the production. It’s all that matters.

Though being alone with his thoughts in the middle of the night isn’t the best time for focusing. Despite the fact that working rehearsals begin on Monday, the notion of Naomi and loneliness and the possibility of death is stronger. The need for a change, a break from the pain leads to Castiel taking their phone in their hands and sending a message to the groupchat for the cast. They barely realize they’re doing it until it is done, and they wait.

**_beestiel: is anyone still awake?_ **

It’s a simple message, perhaps too desperate, or strange, but it’s sent. They silently pray, or rather _hope,_ for an answer. They don’t know who they expect to reply, if anyone, but it most certainly isn’t Dean.

**_deanbean: whats up?_ **

Castiel blinks slowly, a bit shocked both at the sender and the immediateness of the message. He leaves the groupchat, takes a deep breath, before tapping Dean’s contact and starting to type a message to him, away from where everyone else can see. He doesn’t know what he’s going to say, but if the conversation turns more personal, he doesn’t want everyone seeing it. Only Dean. Somehow, only Dean is trustworthy in this moment. Maybe it's only because he was the first to answer. It’s only been a little over two weeks, and Castiel knows not to trust a pretty face, for so many reasons, but Dean. He’s just Dean.

**_beestiel: i don’t want to keep you from sleeping, so feel free to ignore me._ **

**_beestiel: can we talk?_ **

**_deanbean: i hsve sone time, don’t worry!!_ **

**_deanbean: if this is about the desd body under the stage, that wasn’t me_ **

Castiel notices the various typos and knows immediately that Dean is extremely tired. But he continues the conversation anyway. He won’t make it too long.

**_beestiel: i’m going to ignore that for the moment, but we’ll talk about that later_ **

**_deanbean: cool_ **

**_deanbean: what do yuo wanna tslk about then??_ **

Castiel pauses, a feeling of strings tugging him down into the mattress until he can’t breathe growing stronger.

**_beestiel: anything_ **

**_beestiel: i need a distraction._ **

Hot embarrassment fills Castiel’s entire being, and they want to disappear as they send the message. Dean will either judge them for asking without knowing him well, or he’ll ask too many questions as to why. Castiel closes their eyes tight as they await the inevitable unwanted response.

**_deanbean: ofc_ **

**_deanbean: rehearsal yesterday was rlky fun_ **

**_deanbean: idk if you saw, but mw and bela were having a dancr off_ **

**_deanbean: safe to say i won, until she thrrw her pencik and my eye and nearly blinded mw_ **

**_deanbean: she didn’t bkind me but ya know_ **

**_deanbean: crowley was rlly pouty, being syper dramatic about how he was all a’s except for a b in psych_ **

**_deanbean: it’s funny cuz he hsd a c in ap english last yaer and was chill with it, but it mKes sense i guess_ **

**_deanbean: i’ve bren trying to get my gradw up in my pre calc class, but it doesn’t rllu matter, it’s shit anyways_ **

Castiel finds himself smiling as he reads the unexpected cluster of messages. Just slightly, but the smile exists nonetheless.

**_deanbean: thoughts on math??_ **

**_deanbean: if you say it’s gpod, we can’t be friends_ **

**_beestiel: i don’t necessarily have an opinion on it._ **

**_deanbean: plYing it neutral, huh_ **

**_deanbean: are you at least good or bad at it?_ **

**_beestiel: i’m adequate_ **

**_deanbean: big boy wprd_ **

**_deanbean: like infingitesitml_ **

**_deanbean: infintiseamal*_ **

**_deanbean: infinitesable**_ **

**_deanbean: infinitesimal ************_ **

**_deanbean: no one actually yses that word, u know_ **

**_beestiel: i’m aware_ **

**_deanbean: alex ssys it twice_ **

**_beestiel: i’m aware_ **

**_deanbean: conclusion: alex not a person_ **

**_beestiel: goodbye_ **

**_deanbean: NO CPME VACK i’m sorry, it’s a good word <3_ **

**_deanbean: and alex is good character_ **

**_beestiel: thank you :)_ **

**_deanbean: ofc_ **

**_deanbean: you’re a gopd director also_ **

Castiel’s fingers pause over the keyboard at that. He hadn’t known if what he was doing was working well. It was for him; everything seemed to go alright. But he always assumed that perhaps he was doing something wrong and everyone disliked him for pushing them too hard or something of the sort.

**_beestiel: liar._ **

**_deanbean: no o’m serious_ **

**_deanbean: everything y’ve done so far makes sense and i lobe it, ya know_ **

**_deanbean: you’re doinf a good job_ **

**_beestiel: thank you_ **

**_beestiel: it means a lot._ **

**_deanbean: ofc!!_ **

**_deanbean: is this like ur furst show you’ve directed?_ **

**_beestiel: yes._ **

**_deanbean: makes you evrn betyer_ **

**_deanbean: keep being awesome_ **

Castiel’s heart feels as if it flies.

**_beestiel: i will._ **

**_deanbean: good_ **

**_deanbean: do you fewl bettr now??_ **

**_beestiel: yes, thank you_ **

**_deanbean: missionaccomplished_ **

**_deanbean: i’m rllu tired so i’m gonna sleep, kay?_ **

**_deanbean: nihgt!!_ **

**_beestiel: goodnight dean_ **

Despite feeling suddenly alone once more, the thoughts of anything not regarding Dean are diminished. Castiel falls asleep with the image of jade green eyes wading through the black waters of their mind. Jade green eyes that they shouldn't find as lovely as they do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i made a playlist for this fic if anyone's interested: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5LRXs1RNa3IsqNQ8JZjWKV?si=GIPRHgXcSR2bbx3mpmHZzQ
> 
> have a great day/night <3


	10. ten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!! i am not dead!! only dead inside!! enjoy this chapter <3
> 
> warning for suicidal ideation, abuse mention

_c.n._

Castiel feels like he has the worst hangover to exist when he wakes. His head throbs, invisible sledgehammers slamming against his temples in time with his heartbeat as he sits up in bed. He clenches his jaw in a hopeless attempt to relieve some of the pain, which persists through him getting dressed and trying to focus on getting down the stairs. It’s not the first time he’s had a headache this bad, but it’s been a while. Lack of sleep and forgetting to drink water are most likely the cause.

They grab the acetaminophen from the cabinet and down two with a glass of water once they are in the kitchen. It’s difficult to do because of the pain, but they manage it. Their mother, with the worst timing, walks in just as they do. “Is everything okay?” she asks. Castiel nearly chokes on the last of the water as he starts, and he looks from his mother to the bottle of pills. Naomi has a way of making everything he does seem like a sin. Castiel feels like sin for trying to calm a headache. And maybe he is. Sin.

“My head hurts a little, that’s all,” they say. “I’m okay.”

Naomi steps closer, readjusting her purse on her shoulder. “Oh, sweetie...maybe you should stay home. Rest up.”

Castiel shakes his head almost immediately. “No, mother, I’m...it’s fine,” he insists, though his head pounds with each word. “The...Tylenol will kick in soon.”

Naomi waves a hand, the way she does so often to dismiss whatever Castiel is saying. The way that never fails to make them flinch. “You’re staying. I’ll call the school.”

Castiel’s mouth closes as he resumes clenching his jaw for a moment. He wants to stay, truth be told. His head won’t let him focus on schoolwork or anything, really. But more than that, he wants to be there for rehearsal. He wants to see things come together again like he’s seen the past few weeks. He wants to feel that sense of wonder again. The terror of his mother finding out is there, too, but the awe. He wants to see and feel all of it again, because it’s one of his only escapes. And he wants to see Dean. _Dean._ He feels like he’s letting him, letting all of them down. “I have to tutor Dean,” he says after his mother turns to leave. She stops and looks back.

“He’ll be fine for one day.”

“But momma, he needs me to-”

“Castiel, I doubt he _needs_ you.”

The words and the sudden harshness of Naomi’s voice feel like they rip at Castiel’s stomach, and they freeze as she moves forward until she is right in front of them.

“He can find someone else. There are bound to be other people with the capabilities to tutor him. You’re staying.”

Castiel doesn’t speak again. He nods once. Naomi smiles.

“I’ll call the school on my way to work, alright?” Her voice is gentle again. The contrast only makes Castiel’s head hurt worse. “Let them know you’re not going. I’ll see you tonight.” He cups his cheek, as she always does, in the same controlling and authoritative way. Castiel keeps his eyes locked on hers as she speaks. “Love you.”

They don’t respond. Naomi’s hand moves to hold their chin softly. Perhaps it’s only their imagination, but the pain in their head grows. They finally speak, out of fear and the need for her to leave. “Love you, too.” He forces a smile. His mother’s hand drops slowly, and she smiles once more, before turning and exiting the kitchen. Castiel breathes. But he doesn’t move until he hears the car drive off, and even then, it takes a moment. His head is spinning slightly now, and he hopes the medication kicks in. They decide it’s probably for the best that they stay home. They just wish they hadn’t run into their mother. Their alarm usually goes off after she leaves. But due to the headache, they had awoken before their alarm. The alarm that Castiel realizes is probably going to go off soon.

It’s obnoxiously, painfully loud when it does.

The throbbing subsides throughout the day. Not completely, but by the time school would be over, it’s a dull pain that allows Castiel to concentrate on, well, nothing. Or anything. He doesn’t do much. This is why school, despite its anxiety inducing traits, is good. It allows for a distraction. It takes up time that is now being used for thinking far too much of things that shouldn’t be thought about. Things along the lines of intentional death, leaving this house, and terribly beautiful green eyes.

Their phone buzzes as they lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, allowing their thoughts to consume them whole.

**_deanbean: hey buddy, where are you???_ **

**_deanbean: everything okay?_ **

  
  


Castiel sighs, deciding to ignore the messages until it registers that Dean is the one who asked where they are. They have the sudden urge to answer.

**_beestiel: i’m alright._ **

**_beestiel: just had a migraine and decided to stay home, i’m sorry._ **

He doesn’t mention his mother. He rarely mentions his mother.

**_deanbean: no problem, i hope you feel better_ **

**_beestiel: i do, thanks to some acetaminophen_ **

**_deanbean: great!!_ **

**_beestiel: i’m sorry i won’t be able to be there_ **

**_deanbean: don’t be_ **

**_deanbean: rest up_ **

Castiel starts to type back a reply thanking him, but Dean sends another message first.

**_deanbean: mind if i stop over? to drop some food off or something_ **

Castiel’s heart jumps up in their chest, almost excitedly, and almost afraid. They consider it for a moment. They most definitely cannot allow Dean into their house when their mother is home. They don’t know how to explain their whole situation without seeming a fool.

**_beestiel: after rehearsal?_ **

They bite at the inside of their cheek anxiously. They shouldn’t even be considering the idea, but if Dean says he’ll come now...

**_deanbean: we’re probably just playing improv games, so i can stop over right now and be back in time to pick up sammy_ **

**_deanbean: you want burgers?_ **

Castiel feels like his heart is an animal thrashing against his ribcage. A stinging heat climbs up the back of his throat as he types back a response.

**_beestiel: alright_ **

**_beestiel: if you don’t mind._ **

He takes a deep breath, glancing at the door to his bedroom as if his mother will come back early and see his messages.

**_deanbean: cool, drop ur address ;)_ **

**_deanbean: :)*_ **

Castiel does. They don’t feel like they’re in control of their own actions for a moment as they send their address to the strange, talented, artistically beautiful boy in a heartbeat. A very nervous, very wrong heart beat.

**_deanbean: awesome, seeya soon_ **

Castiel’s legs carry him down to the living room immediately after he receives the message, and he waits for Dean’s arrival with his heart going miles in his chest. His mother probably won’t ever know Dean was here. Of course, they have a security system, but she doesn’t exactly watch all twenty four hours of footage every day. And Dean won’t stay long. He’s just dropping off food. Maybe they’ll talk a while. But that’s all. Naomi gets home near five-thirty, so they’ll have some time.

The doorbell rings. Castiel moves to the door, pausing once they’re there, before pulling it open. Dean turns his gaze from the ground up to Castiel, and as their eyes meet, he smiles the same grin he always does. His teeth might as well be Christmas lights. Or snow. “Hey, Cas,” he says, and Castiel, in spite of the worry and the dull pang in their skull, smiles back.

“Hello, Dean,” he replies. Dean holds up the paper bag in his hand, and Castiel glances from green eyes, to the bag, and then back to the eyes again. “Come in.” He steps aside, and Dean does. Castiel notices Dean’s head is covered with a hood pulled tight enough to hide his hair and ears. He can’t help but laugh slightly. “What’s with the hood?” he asks. Dean looks around the entryway of the house, before looking back at Castiel again.

“Oh, uh...I’ll show you after we eat?” he suggests. Castiel’s stomach twists, and they pull out their phone to glance at the time. They have at least an hour before Naomi returns. So they decide to risk allowing Dean to stay. It’s an idiocy, but they convince themself somehow that they’ll be fine.

“Alright,” they say. Dean beams, and Castiel manages to smile back. He always does, somehow. No matter how false the smile may be. This one’s partially genuine. He leads Dean to the kitchen, sitting at the table and motioning to the seat across from him. Dean takes the seat next to him instead. The contents of the paper bag are then spilled onto the table. Dean looks at Castiel, still grinning. Castiel’s heart stops for a solid few seconds.

“I got two burgers each, but if you don’t finish yours, know that I _will_ eat them.”

Castiel nods and laughs softly, to their own surprise. “Thank you.” They carefully unwrap one of their burgers, glancing at Dean as he does the same. They eat in silence for a moment, before Dean speaks up.

“So, what’d you do today? Being home and all.”

Castiel shrugs slowly. “Nothing, really. I emailed a few teachers asking for the work I missed. Not much else.”

Dean snorts, before taking a bite of his already half finished burger. “Good thing I showed up, ‘cause that sounds boring as fuck.”

Castiel hums. “It has been, I suppose.” Boring is one word for it. Terrifying is another. Being left alone with his thoughts? Never ideal. That is reserved for the night time. It feels completely different during the day.

Dean finishes his food first, and Castiel finishes five minutes afterwards. All the while, they make small talk. It’s mundane. But it’s nice.

“Wanna see what I got done last night?” Dean says suddenly after a moment. Castiel nods without thinking. Dean raises an eyebrow and laughs. “Just uh...be honest if it looks stupid or something, ‘kay?” He shrugs, before pulling his hood back to reveal a silver industrial piercing stuck through Dean’s upper ear. Castiel’s jaw drops slightly at the sight. They can’t speak for a moment. “Don’t leave me hanging, you can tell me if it’s dumb.”

Castiel shakes his head. “It’s…” It’s anything _but_ dumb. He can think of a billion different words other than _dumb._ It’s gorgeous, attractive, badass, perfect, fitting… “Very cool.”

Dean looks at him. “Really? You think so? ‘Cause I wasn’t really sure, I just-”

“Dean, it’s cool,” Castiel interrupts, eyes still glued to the silver rod going through Dean’s ear. Dean nods once, slowly.

“Thanks.” He laughs. “Let’s just hope Sonny thinks so…”

Castiel raises an eyebrow, almost painfully tearing his eyes away to meet Dean’s. “Sonny?”

Dean nods again. “Yeah, he’s uh...he’s kinda like my dad. Runs a boys’ home a little ways outside of town. Sammy and me don’t stay at the boys’ home, we stay with Sonny, but like...anyways. I didn’t tell him I was getting it, so…”

Castiel nods. “It’s very cool,” is all he can say, and he curses himself for sounding like a broken record. “Very badass.”

Dean laughs. Castiel smiles. “Thanks. Really.”

“Of course,” they say as Dean brings a hand up and starts fiddling with the piercing. Castiel shakes their head. “Don’t mess with it.”

Dean looks at them. “Huh?”

“The piercing. My brother Gabriel had a piercing at one point, and he kept messing with it. He ended up getting it infected and had to take it out.”

Dean lets his hand lower. “Oh, geez...I’ll try to keep that in mind and fiddle with something else.”

Castiel smiles slightly at him. “Probably for the best.”

Dean smiles back. “Yeah, thanks.” There’s a pause. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

Castiel looks down. “I have three.”

“Do any of them go to school with us?”

Castiel shakes his head, still not looking at him. “Um...no, they’re all older. And we went to a different school when they were still in high school. Only switched to Lawrence this year.” He looks up at Dean and forces a small smile. “You have a brother, too, right? He does tech?” He hopes Dean won’t notice the desperateness with which he changes the conversation. He doesn’t hate his brothers. Not necessarily. They could be irritating sometimes, but they were never like his mother. Castiel only doesn’t like to think about them leaving, because it meant he was alone, and it meant that his brothers were no longer there to fight back when Naomi did something. In a way, they would protect Castiel. He doesn’t have that anymore.

“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean says, seemingly not realizing, or perhaps, not caring about the change in subject. Castiel appreciates it either way. “Yeah, he’s younger than me. Little freshman. Though not so little ‘cause he’s almost taller than me now, but y’know.” Dean starts to fiddle with the earring again, and Castiel gently pulls at his sleeve without thinking. Dean looks at them. “Sorry- But yeah, he’s great. And real smart, too. Like he’s good and most things. And I’m just here acting and fixing cars. Well...a car.” A pause. “That doesn’t matter, anyways. Uh- What were we talking about? Right, Sammy. He’s probably the best person in tech. Don’t tell Charlie I said that.”

Castiel laughs despite himself. “I won’t.” He shakes his head, looking around the kitchen, before opening his mouth to speak again. He stops when he hears the distant sound of a car engine pulling into the driveway, and he freezes for a moment. “Dean- I- What time is it?” he manages finally. Dean’s eyebrows press together and form faint lines on his forehead as he pulls out his phone.

“Uh...almost five, why?” he says. Castiel’s heart nearly jumps out of their chest and falls to the floor. They can’t have been talking that long. Dean seems to have only just gotten here. And why is Naomi home early? Maybe it’s just a car using the driveway to turn around. Maybe they have some time.

The door opens. Castiel’s stomach drops.

“You should leave…” they say. Dean’s brow furrows further.

“Cas-”

“I have to...do homework. Thank you for the burgers. But-”

“Castiel?” Naomi’s gentle, horrible voice cuts through his words. He looks at her. “Who’s this?”

Castiel wants to speak. He wants to say “this is Dean, the boy I’m tutoring” and hope that Dean understands. But he can’t make his voice work for a few seconds too long, and Dean is speaking.

“I’m Dean,” he says. “I’m part of the play.” 

Castiel’s head reels. Naomi looks at them, her eyes sending a storm of icicles into them. They want to curl up and die. “The play?” their mother asks. Castiel hopes Dean will understand from that. They hope he will see that their mother doesn’t know about the play. They hope it’s not too late.

“Yeah, the one we’re putting on, that Cas wrote?”

Castiel looks at him. He looks confused. Maybe he’ll realize now. But it doesn’t matter. The damage is done.

“Oh, of course, the play,” Naomi says, feigning that she knows. Feigning excitement. “I’m looking forward to seeing it.”

Dean smiles. “Yeah...I look forward to putting it on.”

Castiel grabs Dean’s arm and pulls at it, not thinking about what he’s doing, just wanting to get rid of Dean before he makes things worse. “You need to go…” he whispers. Dean looks at him, confusion reaching his features once more.

“I...okay? I’ll see you later?”

Castiel says nothing, leading him out of the kitchen and to the door without a word. He opens the door, waits for Dean to leave, then closes it the moment he’s outside. His heart pounds as he turns slowly to see Naomi watching him. Air becomes scarce.

“What are you doing after school?” she asks. “And don’t lie to me this time.”

Castiel wants to disappear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos are always appreciated!!
> 
> here's the playlist for this fic again if you wanna check it out: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5LRXs1RNa3IsqNQ8JZjWKV?si=GIPRHgXcSR2bbx3mpmHZzQ
> 
> have a wonderful day/night!! happy holidays!!


	11. eleven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO, I'M NOT FUCKING DEAD!! i'm sorry for disappearing for a while, i just had really bad writer's block and ugh. but i'm back now <3
> 
> warning for some mentions of abuse

_d.w._

Dean can’t sleep until late, his stomach turning and head spinning with the suspicion that he said something wrong when he was at Cas’ house. Something about Cas’ mom’s face and Cas’ face and the super sudden urgency that’d filled his voice when he’d asked Dean to leave felt off. Out of place. But there has to be a reason for that, and the only reason Dean can think of is himself. He must’ve said something or done something that made Cas want him to leave, or maybe Cas was just getting uncomfortable. Which makes sense. Dean’d be uncomfortable if he was home alone with himself, just showing off his new piercing. Especially if he’d seen himself punch a kid just a couple weeks ago.

Well fuck.

No wonder Cas wanted him to go. He probably thinks Dean’s insane. He’s not exactly wrong either. Though repressed, depressed, and overall a mess is probably more accurate. Theatre is one of his only sources for positive feelings, but if Cas doesn’t like him or whatever, then he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to enjoy it. That’s probably stupid, but he’s grown to like Cas in the time they’ve spent at rehearsal. He started out being interested in wanting to talk to him, and now he _knows_ he wants to be his friend.

“Hey, everything okay?” is the first thing he can think to ask Cas when he first sees him in the theatre after school. It’s really hot in there for some reason. Dean suspects the boiler’s broken or something, because it’s getting annoying. There’s a small moment of hesitance before Cas speaks.

“I’m okay,” he says, eyes meeting Dean’s own for a moment, before flickering away. “Just tired.”

Dean wants to believe it. He wants to believe that Cas is fine and that he doesn’t hate him and that everything is perfectly alright. But he’s said the exact same things millions of times before when he wasn’t fine, and even if Cas doesn’t like him, he wants to make sure he’s okay. “Did I do something wrong yesterday?” he asks, glancing around like someone might be listening in. “You and your mom were acting weird. I get it if you didn’t want me there, I’m really sorry if-”

“It’s nothing, Dean.” The car engine in Cas’ voice revs as he snaps. Dean closes his mouth, and the nerves and concern he’s already been feeling spike. “I just...she didn’t know about the play,” Cas adds, more quietly. Dean nods once, his stomach twisting uncomfortably as the heat in the room seems to get worse.

“Oh shit…” He looks away. “Fuck, I’m really sorry. Did I get you in trouble?”

“No,” Cas says, meeting Dean’s eyes again. “No, it’s fine. She was just surprised. I didn’t think she’d like the idea of me doing theatre, but she was okay with it as long as she can come see the play.” He’s smiling slightly when Dean looks at him. Dean smiles back, and some of the uncomfortable anxiety settles. “And thanks for the burgers,” Cas adds. Dean grins.

“No problem, least I could do. Does your head feel better today? ‘Cause if not, I’ve got some pain meds in my bag.”

Cas laughs slightly. “Are you offering me drugs, Dean?”

Dean laughs right back. “I mean, technically. Are you gonna practice your refusal skills with me?”

Cas looks down, then looks at Dean again, dead serious. “No thanks, I don’t do drugs,” he deadpans. Dean can’t help but laugh again.

“So your head does feel better?”

“It does.”

Dean clicks his tongue. “Too bad. I really wanted to get you high on Tylenol.”

Cas makes a face. It’s adorable. “Can you get high on Tylenol?”

Dean considers this for a moment, searching his brain for an answer. “Uh, probably not,” he says after a moment. The room is still unnaturally hot, and Dean sighs as he shrugs his flannel off and ties it around his waist. It doesn’t make much of a difference, and he can’t exactly take off his t-shirt without getting into trouble with the school. “It’s really fucking hot in here…” he mumbles, glancing at Cas, who he realizes is wearing a sweater like he always does. How the hell is he not dying right now?

“It really is,” Cas says, and Dean bites back a laugh. He glances around in search of Mr Meyer for a moment before he looks back at Cas, who’s staring at his arm. Dean follows his gaze to the jagged scar on his bicep that he always forgets is there. He always expects it to just disappear if he forgets it exists, but of course, that’s not how things work, so it’s still there. Thank you John and Half a Beer Bottle. Dean clears his throat, memories of that particular night crowding his mind as he tries to think of something to say to get Cas to look away. That was a bad night. Worse than the rest. It’s the one no one knows about, not even Benny. His dad may have never come at him with a knife, but that night had been pretty close to it. Dean swallows and forces the urge to cry away.

“Cas, buddy, d’you mind?” is all he can manage. The way he says it sounds borderline rude, but he can’t bring himself to care right now. Cas’ eyes flicker up to Dean’s before retreating downwards.

“Sorry, I...I do that sometimes,” he mumbles. Dean forces the laugh he bit back earlier to come out.

“What, stare at people’s scars?” he jokes. Cas looks at him.

“Stare at people, period. Sorry.”

Dean shakes his head. “You’re fine. It’s not a big deal.” He pauses, finding it within himself to grin as he tries to push the memories back into the dark recesses of his mind. “You wanna know how I got these scars?”

Cas tilts his head. “What?”

Dean’s grin falters. “Y’know. Like the movie. The Dark Knight. The Joker…?”

Cas’ eyebrows scrunch together. Dean rolls his eyes.

“You’re shitting me, you’ve never seen…?” He shakes his head. “Whatever, we’ll watch it sometime. Point is, I tripped and fell on the stairs when I was like ten, and there was a nail stickin’ out that ripped up my arm.”

Cas makes a face. “That must’ve hurt.”

Dean nods, playing easily into the lie. He lies all the time. “It did, like a bitch.” He grins again. “It’s a pretty nifty scar though, huh?”

Cas smiles and nods, before raising an eyebrow at him. “Dean, stop touching it.”

Dean blinks, thinking for a moment that Cas is talking about the scar. He then realizes that he’s fiddling with the piercing again. “Shit. I really need to start paying attention to when I do that.”

Cas nods. “Yes. You can’t always rely on me to tell you to stop, unless you’re willing to let me come over to your house every day.”

Dean assumes that’s supposed to be a joke, and he grins. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind,” he admits before he can stop himself. “If you wanna come over after rehearsal. At least for today.” He shrugs. Cas’ expression is unreadable, and Dean swears the room gets to one hundred degrees. 

“I...my mother doesn’t want me out after six,” Cas says finally. Dean nods, and his heart unexpectedly drops.

“That’s fine,” he replies, smiling. “You wouldn’t technically be out, ‘cause you’d be at my house, but I get it,” he adds quickly. Cas smiles just slightly.

“I…” He seems to stop himself, before nodding. “You’re right,” he says, and Dean’s eyebrows shoot up hopefully. “I’m sure she won’t mind just this once, anyway…”

Dean beams at him, laughing softly. “Awesome, I’ll tell you where my house is at after rehearsal.”

Cas nods and laughs a bit, too, and it’s one of Dean’s favourite things. “Alright.”

Dean forgets for a moment about the true origins of his scar and John and crying. He just focuses on how he’s somehow convinced Cas to come over to his house and that he doesn’t hate him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed that chapter, and hopefully the next one will be up soon!! love y'all <3 comments and kudos always appreciated.
> 
> have a fantastic day/night!!


	12. twelve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, i have finished all my semester tests and am posting this right after finishing my last one!! hope you enjoy <3
> 
> warnings for mentions of abuse and suicidal ideation

_d.w._

The awkward silence filling Dean’s room once they get there makes him almost regret inviting Cas over. The idea of him coming over seemed like something that was distant somehow, something he could only dream of, and now that it’s actually happened, he doesn’t know what to say. He’s just standing near the bed, and Cas is standing by the door. It’s probably just Dean’s imagination, but it seems like he’s getting ready to run away at any given moment. “Sorry, I’m really bad at conversation sometimes…” Dean says, giving a half-smile that’s born of all the nerves in the world. Cas looks at him and smiles slightly.

“I’m sure you’re fine, we just need to think of something to talk about,” he says. Dean nods.

“Right, yeah…” He shrugs, his brain searching for a topic of conversation. Usually, this is easier. Dean’s mind is full of things to talk about, and usually he can just bring on up and boom, conversation. Usually he isn’t nervous. Usually he can just speak. But then he half-accidentally invites the kid who wrote the play they're doing at school to his house and he can’t find words. “What kinda things you into? Any movies, music…?”

Cas seems to pause, before nodding. “Sleeping at Last,” he says. Dean blinks, confused.

“Huh?”

Cas smiles a bit more. “The- The artist. Sleeping at Last. Saturn?”

Dean doesn’t say anything, because he still has no idea what Cas is talking about. He wishes he did, if only so they’d have something to have a conversation about. “Like the planet? Is...is that a painting?”

Cas looks at him, tilting his head just slightly and squinting, before laughing into the sleeve of his oversized, navy blue sweater. “Sorry…” he says. “No, a _musical_ artist. Saturn is a song.”

Oh.

Well Dean feels fucking stupid now. He’d just assumed somehow, just with the way that Cas is, all artistic and pretty and whatever, that he’d been talking about a painting. It just seemed to fit. “Sorry, I’ve never heard of-”

“It’s okay,” Cas interrupts quickly. “I didn’t mean- Did I make you feel bad…? I’m sorry, I-”

“No, it’s fine, it’s okay-”

“Alright, because if I ever do-”

“I’ll tell you.”

Cas nods and smiles. “Good.” He’s closer, Dean realizes. They’ve stepped towards each other at some point. Dean clears his throat slightly.

“Yeah, awesome.” He grins right back. “Do you wanna watch something?”

Cas hums, the low rumble of a motor that makes Dean want to fall into the sound. “What would we watch?”

Dean inhales and shrugs, turning towards the shelf stacked with movies near his bed. “I was gonna suggest the Dark Knight Trilogy, but like...we’ll save that for another time. Take your pick,” he says, running his fingers over the smooth spines of the movie cases. Cas’ eyes meet his, then flicker to the shelf. His eyes move back and forth over the spines, before stopping momentarily.

“You have Maurice?” he asks. Dean leans over a bit to see where he’s looking.

“Oh, yeah. I watched it once a few months ago. It’s pretty good.” He looks at Cas. “You like it?”

Cas looks up at him, before straightening up slightly until they’re almost eye level. Though Cas is just a few inches shorter than Dean. “Well. I’ve never watched it. I’ve heard good things, though.”

Dean shrugs. “We could watch it now,” he suggests. Cas’ head dips to the side again, and he says nothing. Dean opens his mouth to speak again, but doesn’t. He waits until Cas nods. 

“I...yes. That sounds good.”

Dean nods and pulls his eyes away to the movie, taking it from the shelf. “Awesome,” he says with a small smile. He tugs lightly at Cas’ sweater, before leaving the room and heading to the living room. He sets up the film, glancing behind him to see Cas standing awkwardly next to the couch. Dean laughs. “You can sit down, y’know. _Mi casa es tu casa.”_

Cas throws him a look that Dean can’t read as he sits down. “Do you take Spanish?” he asks. Dean blows a raspberry.

“Nah, that’s like all I know how to say. I took Spanish freshman year, but…” He trails off. He doesn’t like talking about freshman year. Too many memories. Bad memories. Freshman year was when the scar happened. Freshman year was-

“Why did you stop?” Cas’ voice comes, and Dean looks down as he steps back from the DVD player.

“It just didn’t take.” He clears his throat. “You take any languages?”

“Latin, sophomore year.”

“Latin? Spicy. I’m guessing it didn’t take?” He sits on the other side of the couch, glancing at Cas, who nods and gives a little half smile.

“Didn’t take.”

Dean nods and gives a half smile back, before hitting play on the movie. Dean’s thoughts wander almost immediately after the start, and he stares blankly at the screen as he realizes he really doesn’t know if Cas is actually gay. It's a weird thing to think about, but it just hits him for some reason. He knows he shouldn’t assume, but he'd kind of thought he is, because of the play and because he wants to watch Maurice and all that. And the way-too-big sweaters. And just something about him makes Dean’s gaydar go crazy, but what if he isn’t? Maybe he’s just an ally or something. Maybe Dean’s gaydar going haywire is just Dean thinking he’s pretty and sweet. He doesn’t really like that idea. Obviously he can’t and won't try to do anything to change whatever it is, but he doesn’t like the idea for some reason.

Dean pushes the thoughts away as best he can. It really doesn’t matter. It’s whatever. He tries to just focus on the movie. Which is hard enough considering that he can’t focus on most things for more than five minutes, but Cas sitting a few feet away makes it worse. But still Dean pushes the thoughts away, and still he says it doesn’t matter.

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


_c.n._

  
  
  


“I was worried. Where were you?”

Castiel stops in the doorway to his room at his mother’s voice, and he slowly slips his bag from his shoulders and lets it drop to the floor in his room. He then brings himself to meet her eyes. The contrast in the mood from minutes ago when he was with Dean to what it is now almost gives him whiplash. “They needed me longer than I thought they would,” they say, keeping their voice as level as possible. “To help with the set.” They curse themself for feeling some guilt in allowing their mother to worry and lying. “I’m sorry.”

Naomi takes a few steps forward and lays her hand gently at the crook of his neck. “If I call Mr Meyer, he’ll confirm that?”

Castiel pauses, then nods. “Yeah.”

Naomi raises an eyebrow slightly and nods back, giving his shoulder a small squeeze. “I’ll call tomorrow. I hope you’re not lying to me,” she says quietly, before turning to walk back to her office. “I don’t like it when you lie to me.”

Castiel lets out a breath, moving into his room. “And I don’t like lying to you,” they say, before closing the door. They collapse onto the bed the moment they reach it, and they can’t help but allow the hot tears behind their eyes to release and burn as they trail down their face like acid. They want to yell. They want to sob. But they won’t, because then their mother will hear. They can’t handle that on top of the fact that their mother will find out that they lied again tomorrow. 

Castiel has mastered the ability to cry silently, at any rate.

He sits up after ten minutes or so, looking out the window at the darkened sky. He decides he doesn’t want to stay here. He decides the ghosts of the house, always finding him, always trapping him, always keeping his mother too close no matter the room she’s in is too much. The ghosts that leave the house cold, no matter how warm it truly is. He decides that he cannot and _will not_ be able to manage whatever his mother will do tomorrow when she discovers he wasn’t at the school. When she asks him where he went, and he tells her. When he will have to live with it all for longer.

Castiel decides to surrender.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;-; hope you liked that chapter, comments and kudos appreciated,,,,,,,have a great day/night <3


	13. thirteen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a heavy chapter,,,,,
> 
> warnings for suicide attempt and mentions of implied abuse

_ c.n. _

The drive to the lake goes by in a blur of streetlights and fragments of Mother Mother songs playing on the stereo. Castiel is both hyper aware and completely ignorant of what they are doing, and what they are about to do. They feel both in control and entirely out of control of their actions as they park their car near the water and wander down. Memories of being five and nearly drowning in the pool flood their mind. If only they’d died way back then.

As the memories persist, Castiel decides that drowning isn’t nearly close to the worst way to go. The feeling, despite the inability to breathe, is almost calming. That’s how he remembers it. He hopes that his memory is accurate. Though even if it isn’t, it will only be one last suffering before it all stops. 

Or will it?

Castiel stops near the edge of the lake, his breath seizing and leaving him unsteady on his feet. There was always the question of what comes next that stopped him from doing this before. What if Naomi is right about some things? What if heaven and hell are real? Castiel knows they won’t make it to heaven if they are. The existence of life after death, especially a life like hell, is terrifying. Though Castiel is fairly certain they’ve already been to hell. And perhaps if they don’t believe in it, it won’t exist. They won't let that thought stop them. They won’t let thoughts of their mother finding out and crying stop them, either. Their mother wouldn’t care. She would probably be angry at him for escaping her if anything. And _ that  _ thought, though tied with guilt and fear, is what finally drives Castiel to breathe again and step forward.

The water burns cold as it slowly seeps through his shoes and into his socks. It’s uncomfortable and spongy; he ignores it as he steps forward, each step bringing water higher and higher, getting every inch of him soaking and cold. Chilling his soul. Despite the iciness, the slowness of his movements, his heart pounds. Pounds with the guilt of doing this. Pounds with sin. Sin. One final sin before he goes. One final transgression. Unforgivable. But then again, Castiel’s very existence was unforgivable. Is unforgivable? Or was? Won’t be for much longer.

Water up to their chin leaves their chest constricting, making it difficult to breathe, but it doesn’t matter. They won’t be breathing soon. They inhale sharply, before pushing themself closer to the center of the lake, where their feet can’t reach the ground, and then they swim. Their muscles ache with frigidness, but it doesn’t matter. They won’t feel anything soon. They swim down. Down until they feel the bed of the lake, until they can’t see anything in the dark water that stings their eyes. But that doesn’t matter. They won’t see anything soon.

Nothing matters.

Not the cold, not the pain, not the dark, not air, not what his mother will think, not her knowledge of the play, not her threats, not her hand against his face, not schoolwork, not the cast of the play, not the scrapped scenes from the play in a notebook under his bed, not Mr Meyer, not sunlight, not bees, not warmth, not stained glass green eyes, not desert brown hair, not Dean…

Not Dean.

Of course not Dean.

Not the gorgeous boy born to play Alex. Not the ethereal boy Castiel can never have, will never allow himself to have. Not the wonderful boy that Castiel is now realizing he truly  _ wants _ to have. Not Dean. Never Dean.

But Dean.

Beautiful, exquisite, perfect Dean. Who needs to have Dean? The question makes itself sudden in Castiel’s mind as he starts to let thoughts and his life wander into nothing. Why would he need Dean? No one needs Dean. Not like that. Those who know Dean are lucky enough just to know him. Does Castiel need Dean? He wants him, but does he need him? Being his friend is enough. Standing in the same room as him is enough. Existing in the same world, the same universe as him, is enough. And Dean, Dean, Dean…

Dean is enough.

Castiel begins to focus, and they kick. They kick, and they push, and they try to get out of the water. They feel their chest ache, from lack of oxygen and the desire to cry. Their movements go frantic as they struggle to reach the surface of the lake, the air that lies above. The water seems far deeper than it had been moments before. Castiel sobs, and water gathers in his lungs. He tries to scream. He tries to look for the moon in the sky, to find any light and swim towards it. He can’t see anything, no matter how hard he looks. Maybe it’s from the darkness in the water, or maybe it’s from the unconsciousness that he’s attempting to ward off, yet that still continues to slip into his body and mind. The thoughts of heaven and hell, of his mother, of drowning at five years old in a pool and being saved by Gabriel, all leave. The thoughts of Dean are forced away. There is only the want to breathe again, and the notion that perhaps he never will. He’s fucked it all up, and he’ll be found in a few days dead. And maybe no one will care. But he doesn’t want it, not now.

A new type of cold hits their face like a slap, and they feel air blowing, a slight breeze. They continue to kick, trying to figure out if their eyes are open or closed. The water in their lungs comes up with violent coughs and retches, and Castiel nearly slips under the water again. He manages to open his eyes, and he searches for land as he breathes in air and coughs out water, both so forceful that he still thinks he might die as he pushes his aching muscles to move towards shore.

He drags himself up onto the dirt once he makes it, and the taste of mud is present on his lips as he lies there, coughing and gasping for air, relieved and angry.

Conflicted.

Wondering if they should just throw themself back in the lake and get it over with.

Regretting coming here at all.

Allowing Dean to sneak back into their thoughts.

Fearing what their mother will do.

Crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter should be up soon :,) comments and kudos appreciated <3 have a lovely day/night!!


	14. fourteen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a bit of a shorter chapter, but hello, not dead <3
> 
> warnings for mentions of suicide and slight homophobia

_d.w._

Cas isn’t at rehearsal today, and Dean immediately wonders if he’s done something wrong again. His phone is in his hand before he can think about what he’s doing. He has some time before they run through the play.

**_deanbean: hey, you okay?? meyer said u weren’t at school_ **

The response doesn’t come for a couple minutes.

**_beestiel: i couldn’t make it._ **

**_deanbean: oh? is everything okay?_ **

**_beestiel: it’s fine_ **

**_beestiel: just needed a break._ **

**_deanbean: you sure? is there anything i can do?_ **

**_beestiel: it’s nothing._ **

Dean chews his lip. He doesn’t know if he believes Cas at all. Something feels wrong.

**_deanbean: okay…_ **

He sighs as he sits down at the edge of the stage, staring at his phone and waiting for a response, for Cas to explain, for something. 

**_beestiel: can you come over?_ **

Dean blinks. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting. Not that.

**_deanbean: uh_ **

**_deanbean: like after rehearsal?_ **

He waits again for an answer. Worry keeps punching him in the stomach, and he tries to take deep breaths. Something’s wrong. Something is definitely wrong. And not knowing what it is is scaring him, maybe too much, but he’s scared for Cas. Is he okay? Did something happen? Is he sick, is he hurt, is he-

**_beestiel: now_ **

**_beestiel: please._ **

**_deanbean: cas what’s wrong???_ **

**_beestiel: i tried to kill myself last night._ **

Dean’s heart stops beating in his chest for way longer than it should.

**_deanbean: holy shit are you okay??_ **

**_deanbean: i’m gonna come over_ **

**_beestiel: it was a mistake, i was just upset. i overreacted._ **

**_deanbean: cas, are you alone right now?_ **

**_beestiel: yes, but i’m not going to do anything._ **

**_beestiel: i just want to see you_ **

Dean doesn’t waste time sending a reply. He moves to where his bag is sitting backstage and takes out his car keys, before swinging the bag over his shoulder. He passes Sam working on retouching some of the paint on some of the set pieces. “Dean…?” his brother’s voice says as Dean walks by as quickly as he can. “Dean where’re you going?”

“I’ll be back to pick you up, okay?” he calls back, heading out of the auditorium, and then the school, and then into his car. The entire drive is hell, because all he can think of is Cas trying to kill himself and Cas being alone right now and he wants to throw up. He’s even more scared than before, but he takes deep breaths, trying to keep himself calm, to keep himself from gripping the steering wheel too tight, to focus on the road. He knows Cas said he wouldn’t do anything. But he doesn’t want him to be alone. He doesn’t know what he’d do if Cas did do anything. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck-

He pulls up to the house and parks the car haphazardly by the side of the road, before tripping over himself as he gets out and practically running to the front door. He rings the doorbell, trying to focus on his breathing, trying to keep it calm, deep, just like Sonny tells him to sometimes. The door opens a moment later, and so much relief washes over Dean that he almost drowns in it. “Cas…” he breathes out, before pulling him into a hug without even thinking about it. Even after realizing what he’s doing, Dean doesn’t pull back. He just holds onto Cas as tightly as he can, and he feels Cas hug back almost as tightly. They stay there forever. Or at least most of forever, until Cas pulls back with a sniff that breaks Dean’s heart into a billion pieces like shattering ice.

“I’m okay…” Cas says, and Dean knows it’s not true. “I just- I needed to see you- I don’t know…”

Dean shakes his head. “It’s okay, I’m here. Anything you need, I’m here,” he says softly. Cas’ ceramic blue eyes meet Dean’s, before looking to the side.

“Thank you…” Cas whispers. “I...sorry. Come in, if you want.” He laughs slightly, but he’s still crying, so it’s broken, and Dean’s stomach drops and lurches painfully. He steps into the house, placing a hand gently on Cas’ shoulder.

“What can I do?”

Cas turns to look at him once they’re in the kitchen, running a hand over his face. He says nothing.

“I wanna help, just…just tell me what to do,” Dean insists. Cas looks down and crosses his arms.

“Can...can we go to my room?” he asks. Dean hesitates, then nods.

“Of course.” He follows Cas up the stairs to his room, sitting next to him on the bed and setting his hand on his shoulder again when he gets there. They’re both quiet for a while, and Dean suspects that neither of them knows what to say. “D’you wanna...talk about it?” he asks finally. Cas shakes his head.

“I’d rather not. I just wanted...to see you.”

Dean nods. “I’m here.”

Cas looks at him, and Dean holds his breath for a moment. “Sorry. It must sound so- I’m sorry.”

Dean shakes his head. “No, it’s okay...I’m here for you. Anything you need.” He takes his hand without really realizing, and Cas doesn’t pull away at first, so he lets it happen. It’s nice. He hopes it helps. Cas closes his eyes for a few seconds.

“I...can you…” He pulls his hand away, looking down. “Thank you for coming…” he whispers. “I appreciate it. But you should get back to rehearsal.”

Dean’s brow furrows. “I can stay, it’s okay. I wanna hel-”

“Then please go...I...the best way you can help is to keep going on with the play.” Cas stands up, then turns to look at him. “Please?”

Dean doesn’t move, just staring into blue eyes that look like they want to release more tears. He then shakes his head. He won’t leave Cas alone, because he’s scared, and he needs him safe. He needs him okay. “I’ll leave when your mom gets here.”

Cas shakes his head, and maybe Dean’s imagining it, but it looks like his eyes widen a bit. “Dean, please-”

“I’m not leaving you alone.”

Cas shakes his head, and Dean expects him to protest some more, but he just breaks down crying again. Dean stands up and hugs him tight, and he just holds him.

  
  
  


\---

_c.n._

  
  
  


Castiel doesn’t tell Dean about his mother and what she’s put him through. He doesn’t tell Dean why he tried to kill himself. He doesn’t tell Dean anything other than that it would be better if his mother thought he weren’t here. And Dean drives and parks the car a few blocks away. Castiel then locks his door after saying goodnight, Dean still inside, and he spreads out some blankets on the floor for himself. Dean insists on taking the floor. Castiel is too tired to argue.

They fall asleep thinking of Dean and the play, and listening to the breathing of the beautiful boy, asleep on the floor a small ways away from them. They are alive, and so is Dean. That is reason enough for now to continue to live. They pretend there won’t be dire consequences when their mother finds out about what the play is like. They pretend that they are okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed. next chapter should be longer so,,,
> 
> have a lovely day/night!!


	15. fifteen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a bit of a shorter chapter, also sorry for being dead for a while, but yeah, the next chapter'll be longer, i swear!!
> 
> warning for attempted suicide mention, slight homophobia

_ c.n. _

Getting Dean out of Castiel’s room without his mother seeing isn’t very difficult; the window, despite being on the second floor, isn’t terribly high up. Once Dean is gone, Castiel feels alone once more, but he ignores the feeling. He will see him again after school. They have a little less than two more weeks of rehearsal before the show, and Castiel is terrified and excited. He focuses on being excited. Excited for the play and for Dean. He ignores the terror his mother’s glare brings. He ignores the fact that he tried to kill himself last night.

Naomi says nothing during breakfast, and Castiel’s stomach twists uncomfortably with each bite they take of their food. They finish as quickly as they can so they can leave for school. They don’t know if Naomi has called Meyer yet. They don’t know if she knows that they were at Dean’s house instead. They don’t know. They don’t want to find out.

And they don’t.

Castiel’s mother doesn’t say anything at all about that or the play or anything other than a quick “how was your day, sweetie?” and fake “I love you”s over the next few days. It’s strange and almost uncomfortable, and it somehow makes Castiel wonder if she’s forgotten. That’s too much to hope for, most likely, but the idea is nice. And it’s more credible somehow than the other idea that has wormed its way into his mind. The idea that perhaps she has changed.

He knows she hasn’t. She still will hate him for what he wrote in the play and for still being the way he is and for all of it. But the notion manages to come for a small fraction of a second at times, and it makes him want to break down when he realizes it will never happen. Those moments are slow, and every other moment around them is fast and swallows them up. It’s difficult to believe that the first show is happening in two hours as Castiel leaves their final period of the day and heads for the auditorium. This thing, this  _ dream _ that they had always thought would be just that, forever, is about to live. They’ve seen it come to life in rehearsal before, but with an audience, with people seeing what they wrote and how it all has come together, it’s different. It’s ineffable. Castiel can’t and doesn’t want to describe it. He just wants to live in this feeling forever, without worrying about which show his mother will decide to come to or what she will do or anything of that sort. He just wants to live, and to see his dream live. And he wants to watch Dean help that.

It’s only just begun, and still, all he can think about as he watches the actors and the techies all talking to each other in the auditorium is that he doesn’t want it to end.

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


_ d.w. _

“Mic check in five!”

Dean looks back to see Cas peeking into the men’s dressing room when he hears his voice, and he nods. “Thank you, five,” he responds in time with everyone else in the room. He then moves to follow Cas out of the room, glancing at the time as he does. Thirty five minutes until the first show. Jesus. He’s excited. Really excited. With just a touch of nervous dread added to it. He doesn’t want to fuck this up. He wants it to be perfect, to help bring Cas’ play to life. 

Cas.

Cas has seemed better. Dean hopes that it’s not just something he’s putting on to convince everyone that he  _ is  _ better. He hopes it’s true. But Cas doesn’t talk all that much about himself or why he wanted to kill himself or anything. It’s almost frustrating. But Dean gets it. He doesn’t like talking about that shit either. Pretending has always been easier. Even if it’s not good for you. He hopes Cas’ll talk to somebody, even if it’s not him. He hopes he’ll be okay.

“Cas?” He taps his shoulder. Cas turns around and stops in place so quickly that Dean nearly walks right into him. There’s a moment where neither of them say anything, and Dean bites his lip awkwardly.

“Yeah?” Cas says after a couple seconds, and Dean realizes he doesn’t really know why he’s followed him. He does that sometimes. He’d just wanted to for no reason and now here he is.

“Just…” His brain searches for a reason. “I hope you like how this turns out.” He smiles. Cas tilts his head slightly and smiles back. 

“I’m sure I will. You- All of you are amazing.”

Dean’s heart does a little skip at the words, and he grins. “Nah, wouldn’t’ve been able to do any of this without you. I just hope we can do your awesome script justice.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “Dean, you  _ will. _ I’m sure of it.” He shakes his head slightly. More people start to file out of the dressing rooms and towards the stage. Dean takes a deep breath.

“Mic check. I gotta go. See you for warm ups?”

Cas nods, putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder gently, before turning to keep walking. Dean’s left with a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach that doesn’t match up with the excitement or nerves he’s feeling. Doesn’t match up with the feelings he knows so well from every other show he’s done. Doesn’t match up with anything he’s felt related to theatre before. Not exactly. He ignores it and heads to the stage, deciding he can worry about it later. For now, he has other things to focus on. He can’t think about that feeling or if Cas is just pretending or if he himself is okay or anything. Maybe it’s wrong, but all he’s going to focus on for the next hour and a half is being Alex.

Thirty minutes until the show.

Mic checks go by in a daze. The minutes turn to seconds. The curtains open. Lights up. Action. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, again, sorry for the short chapter and for disappearing, next chapter will be longer!! hope you enjoyed, have a wonderful day/night <3


	16. sixteen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> helloooo, happy valentine's day lovelies <3
> 
> warning for slight homophobia and mention of suicide

_ c.n. _

Castiel doesn’t know if his mother is among the audience for the show tonight, and he doesn’t intend to look for her. He sits in the lighting booth, watching the show from there. It’s the safest place he can think of. The place she can’t find him, if she is here. The safest place at the moment. They focus on the play as best as they can, trying not to think of the end of all this. Trying not to think of what their mother will do. Trying to ignore anything except for what is happening onstage and Dean. Dean is like an anchor. It’s ridiculous, but Castiel just focuses on him. Dean and the awe of seeing his play performed in front of an audience for the first time.

Everyone is performing beautifully. There’s a few issues with sound in the beginning, but they quickly get sorted out, and then Castiel lets themself be pulled into the show, as if they’re a bystander in the world of ‘Paint and Divinity’. Their mother is forgotten for the moment. They hardly hear Meyer come up into the booth and then leave again. They just watch. Entranced. Caught. Never wanting to leave.

And then there’s a snake-bite feeling that seizes his lungs when Dean kisses Benny in the final scene before the intermission. The air grows thick. Castiel has watched this scene many times before. There was an entire conversation he had with Dean and Benny about if they felt comfortable doing an actual kiss (to which they had responded by exchanging some sort of look, before nodding simultaneously). He didn’t feel this before. Not even at rehearsal yesterday. He doesn’t know why he feels it now. He looks away, not looking back until he hears Dean’s next line. The soft “Em...I love you.” As soft as it can be while still being heard by everyone in the theatre. The look on Dean’s face. The pure adoration. Castiel wonders what it would feel like to be looked at like that by the beautiful boy with the desert hair.

The snake strikes again.

Poison.

Castiel feels as if their lungs shrivel up, slowly, uncomfortably. They don’t like this feeling in the slightest. They want it to go away. It won’t for the moment.

They stay in the booth until the lights dim completely for the intermission, at which point they leave silently and make their way as quickly as they can backstage. They avoid looking at the audience. They don't want to know if Naomi is here. They don't want to care. They just move quickly and smile once they see the actors all talking amongst themselves backstage. They avoid looking at Benny when they spot him. Their eyes scan through the faces until they see Dean, laughing and grinning all Christmas, all beautiful. All perfect. The venomous feeling in his chest dissipates for a moment as Dean’s eyes meet his. It’s replaced with fuzzy moths and their fluttering wings.

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


_ d.w. _

Dean’s smiling as he talks to his fellow actors backstage, but he smiles wider when he sees Cas coming towards him. Well, not him. Probably not just him. Probably the rest of the cast. But whatever. Him, too. 

He’d kind of forgotten Cas was even watching him. When he’s performing, he just forgets anyone’s watching him sometimes, because he gets so sucked into what’s happening onstage. But Cas is here now, and they have a few minutes before they go back on stage, and Dean’s stomach is doing this weird thing where it feels like he has some sort of plant growing in there. He ignores the feeling as he moves forward. The smile on Cas’ face makes the weird sensation hard to ignore. If Dean could smile wider, he would. “Heya, Cas,” he says as he reaches him. Cas nods once.

“Hello, Dean,” he says. The smile’s still present on his face. And Dean thinks it seems genuine. He hopes it is.

“How’d you like the first half of the show?”

Cas shrugs. “You’ll have to wait ‘till the end to hear my thoughts.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but he can’t stop grinning. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Dean sighs overdramatically. “Fine, fine.” He nudges Cas’ shoulder gently with his own shoulder. Cas laughs quietly, and Dean laughs, too. “You’re real mysterious, y’know that?”

Cas shoots him a look. “What does that mean?” he asks. Dean grins and shrugs, even though he knows exactly what it means. It means he doesn’t know a lot about Cas, even though he feels like they’re close. It means he doesn’t know if Cas is gay or just wrote something about a gay couple for the show. It means he wonders what inspired ‘Paint and Divinity’ to begin with, and he wonders if he’ll ever know.

“I don’t know, man. You just give off a mysterious vibe.”

“How?”

“You just do.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “Insightful.”

Dean shrugs. “Hey, I’m not the one who’s good with words.” He watches Cas’ eyes roll again, before they fall on the rest of the cast. He follows his gaze. “You okay?” he asks after a second. Cas sighs audibly from next to him.

“Mostly. I’m not suicidal.”

Dean bites his lip at the words, nodding once. “Good. I’m glad.”

Cas scoffs quietly, says nothing, then clears his throat. “Can we- Changing the subject…”

Dean looks at him and nods. “Sorry, yeah. What d’you wanna-”

“You and Benny did really well,” Cas interrupts. “I think you had some of the most believable chemistry I’ve seen. More than the rehearsals.”

Dean blinks a few times, before glancing down as Cas looks at him. His first thought is the kiss. The second is that something about Cas’ tone is weird. Dean feels weird. Awkward. He tries to find something to look at that isn’t Cas’ eyes, but isn’t his lips, and isn’t lower than that, but also isn’t away. He settles on the tip of his nose. “What happened to no thoughts until after the show?”

Cas snorts a laugh, looking away for a moment, and when he looks back, Dean accidentally meets his eyes. Neither of them look away. Dean feels like he’s done something wrong, even though he hasn’t. It’s not Cas’ fault, he doesn’t think. It’s probably just his own brain being weird. Probably something about Cas makes him feel-

“Just thought I’d point it out. You both did very well.”

Dean nods. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” Cas smiles and pulls out his phone. Dean smiles back, even though Cas is looking at his phone and can’t see him for a moment. “Um...I’ll let you go, you’re back on stage in five.”

Dean bites his lip. “Thank you five,” he jokes. Cas looks at him and laughs, just slightly.

“You’re welcome.” There’s a moment where neither of them say anything, and they just stare, but Cas breaks eye contact. Dean thinks he’s going to walk away. And then he hugs him. Dean’s surprised, but he quickly hugs back. 

“Hey, what’s this for…?” he says quietly. He’s just a little concerned, because last time they hugged was the day after Cas tried to kill himself. 

“Luck.”

“Luck?”

“Yeah.”

Chapped lips against Dean’s cheek for a fraction of a second as Cas pulls away. The plant in Dean’s stomach grows three feet all at once. He doesn’t know if it was even intentional. Cas is gone before he can say goodbye or that he’ll see him later.

Dean feels like he’s dreaming for the rest of the show. It’s a wonder he even remembers his lines, because he’s thinking about the possible cheek kiss much more than he should be. The applause after the final scene seems distant. Everything seems distant. Dean looks for Cas when the cast goes out after the show to see their friends and family. He walks towards him when he sees him. Cas' eyes meet his, everything still seemingly far away and dreamlike and…

“Hey, Dee-Dawg!”

The drifting feeling shatters.

Sonny.

Sonny came to watch the show.

Which means he probably figured it out.

Well shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed that chapter 👀 drop comments and kudos <3
> 
> have a lovely day/night!!


	17. seventeen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like i say this a lot, but sorry for being dead sldfijsdlf here's a chapter <3 
> 
> warnings for homophobia and implied abuse

_ d.w. _

Dean’s heart won’t stop whipping around in his ribcage as he slowly turns to see Sonny and his brother standing a small ways away. He swears he’s going to have a heart attack with each step he takes closer to them. He stops a few feet in front of them, unable to move forward anymore. He doesn’t have to. Sonny and Sam close the distance, and then they’re a little pod of people among more pods of people made up of other cast members and their families. But Dean can barely focus on the other people. He can barely focus on Sam or Sonny or himself. All he can think is that he’s about to be in such big trouble. He doesn’t even know why. Sonny probably doesn’t give a shit if Dean’s bi. Dean’s seen him help tons of LGBT kids in the boys’ home before. But logic is out the window. There’s only feelings of panic and fear. Dean just wants to fall in a hole and hide. Crawl under the bed and wait until his dad passes out drunk on the couch. He tries to remind himself that John’s not here. Sonny’s not John. John’s not here. John’s not here. John’s not-

“You did fantastic,” Sonny says, and Dean tries to smile. His fists clench and unclench at his sides as he tries to think of anything to say, to do, anything other than the nerves that are making his heart thrash and his heart stir.

“Thanks,” he says simply, his voice as stable as he can keep it, which right now isn’t all that stable. He looks down. His legs are shaking, like rubber bands, ready to loosen and bring him to the ground at any second. He hopes it’s not as visible as it feels.

“You okay?”

So the shaking is visible. Fucking great. Dean swallows hard, still avoiding Sonny’s eyes. “Yeah…” It’s a whisper.

“Dean?”

Eyes still on the ground. “I’m fine.”

“D’you wanna go to the bathroom for a sec?” Sam asks. Dean shakes his head. He’s done that a couple times. Gone with Sam to the bathroom on bad days, just to calm down sometimes. He hasn’t done that in a while. He doesn’t want to now. Well. He does. But there’s no point in running. Sonny knows. Or he’ll figure it out soon.

“Dean, deep breaths,” Sonny says gently. Dean shakes his head again. Fuck, he feels like his hear’s gonna explode. His stomach’s turning inside out. He wants to run, not to the bathroom with Sam, but away. Anywhere. Anywhere but here. Where he doesn’t need to talk to anyone ever again. Run.  _ Run. _

“I’m bi.”

The words dribble out after being choked and forced up from the uncomfortable tightness of his diaphragm. His lungs won’t take in enough air when he tries to take a deep breath. He keeps trying. In. Hold. Out. Hold. In. Hold. Out. Hold. In…

“Well, that’s okay…” Sonny says, hand ruffling Dean’s hair gently. “I wondered if you were. That’s okay.”

Dean swallows, only just hearing the words, still focusing on in and hold and out and hold. His heart lurches in a way that’s different than seconds before. His stomach stops twisting just a bit. Sonny’s okay with it. Of course he is. There’s literally no reason he wouldn’t be. But Dean’s scared. Even after the confirmation. “It is…?” His voice breaks.

“Of course, it’s okay. It doesn’t change anything, right?”

Dean shakes his head.

“It just means you like boys and girls?”

Dean shrugs slightly. Talking about it, hearing Sonny talk about it, it’s weird. He focuses on breathing. Breathing and the words being spoken. “Kinda, yeah.” He glances up at Sonny, for just a moment.

“That’s okay,” Sonny says. “It’s not a big deal. Nothing like that’s gonna change that I love you. You know that, right?”

Dean hasn’t been crying, but he really wants to now. He swallows the painful lump in his throat, or tries to, anyway. He leans forward slightly, and Sonny does the rest, wrapping his arms around Dean in a hug that makes Dean think of his mother. Before the heat. Before the fire.

He closes his eyes. A small smile finds its way to his face, and he just stays there for a long while.

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


_ c.n. _

The sheer joy of not seeing their mother is very close to overwhelming when Castiel looks around the foyer outside of the theatre for any sign of her. They nearly fall to their knees in relief, but they manage to instead take in a breath of what feels like the freshest air and search for Mr Meyer. They don’t see him, but once again searching the room and not seeing their mother brings a smile to their face. Of course, there are four more performances, though Castiel tries not to dwell on that fact at the moment. He is here now. His mother isn’t. And now, in this time, this short, beautiful time, he is happy. The venomous feeling from earlier is almost completely gone, allowing his lungs to expand and breathe again, and it disappears completely with the sudden realization that Dean is walking towards him with Sam and who he assumes must be the Sonny Dean talks about.

“Cas!” Dean says, with the widest grin on his face. Snow, lights, gifts, and a Christmas tree. His eyes are red, just slightly. Castiel wonders if he’s okay, but the smile on Dean’s face just gets him to smile back. This one is wider than the smile that had been present moments earlier when he couldn’t find his mother.

“Hello, Dean,” they say, and Dean’s arm loops around their shoulders in a way that is both jarring and welcome all at once.

“This is Cas, the genius behind the play.” He looks at Castiel just as they look at him. Moths fly in Castiel’s stomach as their eyes meet. They think of the impulsive cheek kiss they gave Dean before intermission ended. They find themself wondering if Dean even noticed. The idea of him noticing, and perhaps even liking it, makes fluttering wings go wild in their chest.

“I wouldn’t say genius,” he manages. Dean nudges him by leaning into his body for a second, arm still firmly around his shoulders, perfectly adding to the happiness Castiel feels.

“How about mastermind, then?” Dean says. Castiel laughs slightly. He sees Benny talking to Charlie and Jess a ways away from them. Instead of the expected poison, he just smiles further. The kiss was only in the play. Right now, Dean is with him. Perhaps not in the same way, but Dean is with him. He kissed Dean’s cheek, only barely, and it wasn’t part of an act.

In less than a second after the want to smile more, Castiel realizes they had been jealous about the kiss on the stage. Not because they want to kiss Dean on a stage. They want to kiss Dean. Anywhere. They want to kiss Dean now. They want to kiss Dean forever. And now…it would be so easy to. So easy to just kiss him, and pray that he would kiss back.

Pray?

Is that the right sentiment?

Castiel doesn’t know. He’s always prayed for things in a way. Every wish is like a prayer. Every want a silent message sent up to God, who may or may not even exist. Castiel doesn’t know. He does know, however, that this isn’t supposed to be a prayer. This is a sin. A crime. A beautiful crime. One that he doesn’t want to be ashamed of, but that he is.

Still.

Kissing Dean would be so easy. He won’t, but there’s nothing wrong with thinking about it for a moment now. Nothing.

In their peripheral vision, Castiel spots Meyer speaking with someone in a grey suit that is all too familiar. All thoughts and feelings stop, as well as their heart. They pull away from Dean’s arm around their shoulders before they manage to focus on the grey and see their mother. Their heart feels as if it begins to decay, and it hurts terribly. They throw the thoughts of kissing Dean and being jealous of Benny into the trapdoor of their mind, hoping they die in there and never come back. Sin. Crime. She was here. She saw. She’ll send Castiel back, try to fix him, never succeed, but keep trying until she breaks him. Over, and over, until his ashes mix with dust, until, like Adam reversed, Castiel returns to the dirt from which humanity came.

Absolution. It’s not Revelation, but it feels like it is for them.

“Cas?”

Dean’s voice.

Naomi’s eyes meet theirs.

They panic, freeze, try to breathe, to let their heart beat, to live a moment longer.

“I’ll see you later.”

The deadly blue of Naomi’s eyes tells him to go to her, and once he can move, he does. Ephisians 6:1. The cold decay of his beating heart continues with each step he takes towards her. Meyer smiles, unaware of the impending doom that is coming. The apocalypse. The destruction of Adam. The return to dust. The end.

_ The end. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just to clarify this is NOT actually the end!!
> 
> this is why you stan sonny and stab naomi
> 
> srry for the angst <3 (except not really)
> 
> reminder that there's a playlist for this fic: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5LRXs1RNa3IsqNQ8JZjWKV?si=GIPRHgXcSR2bbx3mpmHZzQ
> 
> if you don't wanna check that out or don't have spotify or something, songs i would definitely recommend you check out are take me to church by hozier, heaven by troye sivan, sing along by robert ellis (his voice is so annoying but the lyrics slap), and beautiful crime by tamer <3
> 
> hope you enjoyed that chapter, have a fantastic day/night!!


	18. eighteen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two chapters in one day? i really am resurrected 😼 also sorry in advance for the angst 💀
> 
> warnings for homophobia, abuse, some mention of suicidal ideation.

_ c.n. _

Unlike the short drives from school to Castiel’s house that are stretched into years, this drive feels as short as it is. If not shorter. It’s a blip in the long stretch of time from the beginning of the earth to the end. Practically no time at all.

Castiel gets home, and that’s when time slows. Each step into the house takes eons. Eons of dread and late repentance. Eons, before time catches up once more, and they are sitting in Naomi’s office. Their mother sits across from them, behind her desk, and for once in a long time, they won’t look her in the eye. The fear is too strong. The notion of happiness from the performance and from Dean is gone. Worse than that, erased. As if it never existed in the first place. There is only terror and silence that eats away slowly at the still-decaying heart inside Castiel’s chest. He tries not to feel anything, to dissociate from this moment. He tries to keep himself from crying. He’s managed to so far. He knows that will change the moment the conversation begins. Naomi finally speaks after minutes of letting the carnivorous silence do its work.

“So you don’t have any explanation for what I saw in that theatre?” she says. Castiel shifts in their seat.

“I didn’t say that…” they say quietly, before adding an even quieter, “Sorry.”

“Then say something. Explain it to me.” Her voice is gentle, but it doesn’t disguise the anger behind. Castiel tugs at the sleeve of his sweater, shifting in the seat again. He doesn’t know what to say. If there’s any way to talk himself out of this, he can’t see it. Any escape is clouded and hidden by the ghosts of the house, under his mother’s control.

“I just- I wanted to write a play that everyone would like, because now everyone seems to-”

“The truth, please,” Naomi interrupts, some of the anger showing through the poor disguise of gentleness. Castiel closes his mouth and stops his words so quickly that he nearly chokes on them. He tries to think of some other excuse, or some way to speak the truth. Perhaps, by some miracle, his mother has changed. Perhaps God exists and really does love Castiel enough to change his mother’s heart. But the anger in her voice. Castiel feels burned by it, and they know by that anger that nothing has changed. “Castiel…” Naomi says, voice under the mask of gentleness once more. “Why does your play have two men as the main couple?”

Castiel swallows. He dares to steal a glance into the ashy blue eyes of his mother, before quickly looking down again. “Momma…” they begin, and they don’t continue. Naomi speaks more firmly.

“Why does your play have two men as the main couple.”

“You know why…”

“Tell me.”

Castiel shakes their head, and the tears begin to hinder their ability to breathe, or speak, or remain calm. “Momma-”

“Castiel. Tell me.”

He pulls and fumbles with the sleeve of his sweater more, as if hiding his hands under the fabric will hide his sins from Naomi’s eyes. “Becau...because I like boys…” he whispers, unable to take the glare he can feel on him. Though he knows admitting it won’t take away the fear. “Mother, I like boys, and I...I’ve tried to stop, but I ca-”

“You obviously haven’t tried enough.” The words dig deep like needles. “No one is born like this, Castiel. You learned that during your treatment.”

Castiel’s heart, still painfully breaking down, clenches and tightens behind his ribs. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to live. The thoughts of the ‘treatment’, that place, are all too much. Castiel thinks about it every day, but with this, and the possibility of going back, it’s too much.

“You need to start going again.”

The possibility becomes a reality, water suddenly freezing over in the extreme cold, ghosts closing in. Castiel shakes their head, meeting Naomi’s eyes once again. This time, they hold her gaze. “Momma, I’ll change.”

She shakes her head. “Castiel, I love you so much, but you haven’t changed on your own yet. You need to start going again, this time for longer. It’ll be okay.”

Castiel swallows, biting the inside of his cheek.

“God still loves you...he wants to help you change. You just have to let him.”

“I  _ can _ change,” Castiel insists. It’s a contradiction to his words from moments ago, but he doesn’t care at all. He thinks of ashes and revelation and the death of who he is. He won’t live if he goes. He won’t even survive. “But I don’t need to go back. I’ll tell Meyer not to do the other performances. I- Momma,  _ please-” _

The doorbell cuts through the air and obliterates the remainder of Castiel’s words, slicing into his throat and leaving him quiet. His mother’s stare, digging into his skull, yields for a small second. “And that should be a package I ordered. Go sign for it, please. We can finish this conversation in five minutes, okay?” She stands just as Castiel does, catching their wrist as they turn for the door to the room. Her titanium grip holds them back, her other hand guiding their head to tilt down until she is able to kiss their forehead gently. They feel ill. “Five minutes.”

Castiel nods. Naomi’s hand loosens. He runs. Or rather, leaves as quickly as is possible without actually running. He goes downstairs, not bothering to look through the small glass peephole in the door before he opens it. He freezes at the sight of Dean.

“Cas?” Dean asks, dropping his hand from where it’s about to ring the doorbell again. Castiel shakes their head.

“What are you doing here?” they seethe. Dean’s brow furrows in confusion.

“Don’t know, you just left suddenly and weren’t answering anyone’s messages, so I’m just...checking on you. Makin’ sure you’re okay.”

Castiel shakes his head. “You need to go.”

Dean steps closer. “Cas, you’re...you’re kinda worrying me, man, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s  _ wrong.” _

“Geez, okay…”

Castiel wants to shut the door, but Dean won’t leave. They bite the inside of their cheek. “Just go.” They curse themself for allowing their voice to shake. Dean steps closer for some God forsaken reason. Castiel prays, really prays that he’ll stop. God doesn’t listen. God never listens.

“Cas…” Dean wraps his arms around him without warning. “Please tell me what’s going on…”

The gentleness with no anger hidden behind it is enough to get Castiel’s arms around Dean’s body as tightly as he can in reciprocation. Tears escape. “Can we go to your house?” he asks quietly after a moment. He fully expects Dean to say no. It doesn’t make sense to hang out. Castiel must seem like an asshole after telling him to leave over and over again. There is no reason in the entire universe for Dean to say yes. Not when the entire universe is against Castiel. The stars, the earth, the clouds, all against them. Dean shouldn’t be any different.

“Yeah, ‘course…”

But he is.

Maybe God doesn’t listen. But maybe miracles exist, all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again, this is why you stab naomi
> 
> i highly doubt a third chapter shall be released today, but tbh who knows what the night will bring 👀
> 
> have a wonderful day/night <3


	19. nineteen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello this chapter is pretty short but the next one will be longer i swear 😭
> 
> warnings for implied homophobia and mentioned suicidal ideation

_ d.w. _

It doesn’t take more than a second for Dean to remember why he’s sleeping on the itchy carpet of his bedroom floor instead of the comfortable stiffness of his mattress when his alarm clock goes off in the morning. He doesn’t move for a moment after opening his eyes, thinking back on the night before. Bringing Cas here. Cas breaking down in the car. Trying to comfort him. Sonny asking questions. Cas not wanting, or not able, to answer. Dean taking him to his room. Holding him until he was calmer. Asking if he wanted to go to the hospital. Cas refusing. Saying it wasn’t like that. Wasn’t suicidal. Just needed to get away. Didn’t explain any more than that. Dean waiting until Cas was almost asleep before moving to the floor. Feeling. Fearing. Dreaming.

Dean sits up, muscles aching just slightly from his restless sleep on the ground. He looks over in time to see Cas moving to sit up in bed, and his heart hurts worse than any of his other muscles when he sees him. Something’s definitely wrong, but Cas won’t say anything about what that is. Dean wants to ask again and again, but he stops himself. That’s not what Cas needs. He doesn’t know what Cas does need, but he wants to help in any way he can.

“Morning, sunshine,” he says as he stands up and moves a bit closer to the bed. Cas visibly jumps a little as he looks over at him, and Dean curses himself both for scaring him and for saying sunshine. His massive fucking crush is slipping through because Dean is absolutely not a morning person.

“Good...morning,” he says quietly, smiling just slightly, before looking down and crossing his arms as he swings his legs over the side of the bed. Dean pretends not to notice how messy Cas’ hair is. Messier than usual. Dean quietly decides he loves Cas’ bedhead.

“How’d you sleep?” 

Cas shrugs slightly, still not looking Dean in the eye. “Alright…” he says simply. Dean bites his lip for a moment, considering that. He again stops himself from asking Cas what happened. Cas won’t tell him.

“That’s good,” he says instead. “You want breakfast?”

Cas shakes his head. “Not hungry.”

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Cas says quickly. Dean knows it’s a lie. He really doesn’t want to push, so he nods.

“Great. I’m glad.” He takes a deep breath.

“Thanks for letting me stay…” Cas mumbles. Dean shrugs.

“Yeah, ‘course. Anytime.” He takes a deep breath. “Still not gonna tell me why?” he adds, half joking, half really-wanting-to-know-what-the-fuck-happened. Cas looks up and meets his eyes. Dean feels like he’s intruding suddenly, even though this is his own room.

“I need to go.”

The words throw Dean off. “What?” he says, feeling dumb as fuck for saying that when he heard perfectly clear.

“I’m leaving,” Cas says, looking down again. Dean shakes his head as Cas stands and moves for the door.

“Cas, I just asked-”

“We have school.”

Dean’s fingers close over his wrist. “You don’t have a car here. We just woke up.”

Cas jerks his hand away, nearly pulling Dean off his balance. “I’ll walk.”

“Cas, what the fuck?”

“Just let me go.”

“Go  _ where?” _

Cas turns to look at him just as they both reach for the door handle of the front door. “Anywhere, Dean!” he snaps, and Dean feels his skin crawl with the sudden anger in his tone. “Anywhere. New York. Bolivia, the moon, six feet under. Anywhere but here.”

Dean’s stomach shrinks. He shudders slightly, unintentionally, as he meets Cas’ eyes. They feel cold. Like holding ice in the palm of his hand. Dean shakes his head after a long moment of being frostbitten by Cas’ gaze. “Why?”

Cas’ eyes flicker down. Dean’s heart feels like it gets stepped on. “It doesn’t matter.”

Dean scoffs as Cas tries to twist the door handle that they’re both still holding onto, and he doesn’t let it turn. “You just said you might kill yourself, it obviously matters-”

“I didn’t say that-”

“Yes you did, you said six feet under-”

“That’s not what I meant-”

“Dammit, Cas, just let me help you!”

Cas’ mouth closes. Dean stares at him, and he stares back like it’s a contest. The quiet between them feels like it’s slowly starting to unbraid their friendship for a small moment, and Dean’s suddenly angry and terrified and on the verge of telling Cas to just go, if that’s what he wants.  _ He  _ doesn’t want Cas to go, but fucking hell, he’s mad, and if Cas wants to go, then he probably doesn’t like Dean that much anyways, so what’s the point in trying to get him to stay? He probably was only nice because of the play, and when it’s over, they’ll never talk again. Which really fucking sucks because Dean really likes Cas, a lot, but if they’re gonna stop talking, he might as well push him away first. It’s not a good habit. Dean almost lost Charlie that way once. He’s talked with Sonny about it, and he’s gotten better with it, but fuck, he doesn’t know what to do, and he’s not in a great mood right now, and-

“You- You’re gay, right?” Cas asks. Dean blinks and nods once. He pretends he doesn’t hear the shake in Cas’ voice.

“Bi,” he replies. Cas sighs heavily and looks down. Dean’s jaw clenches as he watches Cas tug at the sleeve of his sweater.

“I’m...I’m something like that…” Cas whispers, and the silence stops untangling them.

Dean stops breathing.

"And my mother doesn't...she doesn't like that." 

Dean dies for a moment inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah sorry again for short chapter :,) hope you enjoyed. have a stellar day/night!!


	20. twenty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> told you this chapter would be longer!!
> 
> warnings for homophobia, implied abuse, mentions of suicidal ideation

_ c.n. _

The light tapping of raindrops against the car window and the faint purring of the engine are the only sounds Castiel hears during the drive to school in the back of Dean’s car. There’s the occasional murmur of a conversation between Sam and Dean in the front seats, but other than those sounds, there is silence. And silence is the key to the prison cell in which Castiel hides thoughts he doesn’t wish to think about, now or ever. He doesn’t know if he’s glad that Sam and Sonny walked in moments after he had confessed his greatest crime against God to Dean, or if he is dreading whatever comes next. Both Sam and Sonny asked a few questions that were easily avoided or lied about. At least, for now. Dean had just looked at Castiel the entire time without a word. He hasn’t said anything to him other than to tell him to get in the car so they could go to school. And Castiel didn’t have the strength to argue or to reintroduce the topic. Of course, Dean doesn’t care about the entire thing. He’s a part of the LGBT+ community himself. But to speak the words aloud, the only other times being when they told their mother years ago and last night, Castiel feels wrong to have said them.

As they pull up into the school parking lot, Castiel’s stomach clenches and tightens with the want to vomit. He manages not to, though the urge is still strong as the engine goes quiet. Dean speaks, and his voice sounds like the devil, ready to take Castiel’s soul. “Sammy, go inside, we’re right behind you,” he says. Sam looks confused when he glances back at Castiel, but he gets out of the car.

“‘Kay,” he mumbles, swinging his bag over his shoulder, before closing the door. Castiel takes a deep breath, before unbuckling their seatbelt and reaching to open the door nearest to them. They want to avoid whatever conversation is going to happen, despite being unable to think of a way it could go terribly wrong. At the moment. The car doors lock.

“Cas just- Gimme a sec, okay?” Dean mutters. Castiel pulls their hand away, sighing softly and nodding without a word. “Thanks.”

Castiel moves to clamber into the front passenger seat of the car. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he mumbles as he does. He looks at Dean, who looks almost offended.

“Dude, what...don’t be sorry,” Dean says with a small smile. A smile that is unexpected after the anger Dean had shown right before Castiel had told him. “Coming out can be hard as shit. It’s okay.”

Castiel nods. “Okay...s-” They bite back another apology. There’s a moment of quiet that feels complete, despite the distant sounds of students laughing and yelling as they head into the school. Castiel inhales sharply. “I’m also...I’m not a boy,” he mumbles. His heart feels as if it’s shaking behind his ribs, like an earthquake that refuses to affect anything other than him. Destroying him from the inside out, like the secret that is now out once did. Like the fear of his mother sending him back did. Does. Fear of her hearing of this, too. She never knew. She knew that Castiel wasn’t heterosexual, but they never told her about the complexities of their gender. Naomi knowing of their orientation was bad enough. “Not quite. It’s...complicated.” The earthquake grows in magnitude, and they look down.

More silence.

Then, “Awesome, what’re your pronouns?”

Castiel steals a glance in Dean’s direction, meeting the jade green of his eyes with a small, unintentional sigh that sounds far too dreamy for their liking. They quickly look away afterwards. “He/they.”

Dean’s hand is on Castiel’s shoulder lightly, a dragonfly against the fabric of his sweater. “Cool beans. D’you want me to use those pronouns with other people, or do you not wanna come out to the theatre group yet?”

The earthquake inside his chest doesn’t cease. “Um…”

“They’d be super accepting and supportive for the most part. But I get if you don’t wanna.”

“Only the theatre group is fine.”

“Gotcha.” Dean’s hand squeezes. The earthquake morphs to a flutter of wings in an instant.

“Thank you.” Castiel looks up at the ceiling of the car, trying to calm their heart both from the previous anxiety and from Dean himself. “You’re not angry?”

Dean’s smile fades in Castiel’s peripheral. Castiel’s heart manages to stop beating as Dean’s hand leaves his shoulder. “Nah, I was just...frustrated, I guess. I wanted to help. Not your fault, though.” He shrugs as Castiel looks at him and nearly apologizes. Dean speaks again before they are able to, however. “You said your mom didn’t like that you weren’t straight.”

Castiel had said that. He wishes he hadn’t. Despite his appreciation and adoration for Dean, he doesn’t want to get into this at the moment. He doesn’t want to tell the beautiful boy about the destruction that his mother has brought into his life, the brokenness, the ghosts in the hallways of the house that is far too large. Castiel doesn’t want to tell Dean, because Dean doesn’t deserve to be troubled with their problems as well as any that he may have himself. Castiel doesn’t want to tell him because they still don’t know if their mother is right. They have come close to dying, but not close enough to know whether heaven and hell exist, whether God exists, whether he hates Castiel and people like them just for existing. Castiel doesn’t want to tell Dean any of it. Regrets telling Dean even a fraction of it. Regrets allowing himself to give in to the sinful urge to escape his mother, to go with Dean. And yet, as he opens his mouth to speak, to tell Dean to ignore the words spoken earlier that morning, he finds he also doesn’t want to lie.

“Yeah,” Castiel says, quietly, simply, defeatedly. They look at Dean, and Dean looks at them, and they are breathless in a way that is different from drowning, and different from crying, and is simply different. Just as Dean is different from the rest of the universe.

“Are you gonna go back?” Dean asks, his voice sounding like a prelude to disaster. Castiel doesn’t know what to answer, what answer Dean wants to hear.

“Yes.”

“Okay...” Dean sighs audibly, his tongue running delicately over his lower lip. Castiel follows the movement with his eyes, not meaning to, before looking back into fields of crystal green in Dean’s irises.

“Still afraid I’ll kill myself?” Castiel means it partially as some joke. Dean doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t smile. Simply looks.

“Maybe. Worried. ‘Cause if you wanted to run away or die, whatever your mom said must’ve been pretty bad.”

Castiel swallows thickly. “It...was,” they admit.

“Why d’you wanna go back?”

“I…” Castiel pauses, inhaling slowly. “Dean, I- There are certain things I believe that I can't go against.”

Dean’s brows push together. “What- What, like religious beliefs?”

Castiel nods.

“I didn’t...know you were religious.”

“Well...I am.”

Dean’s leg begins to bounce against his seat in the car, making a small noise brushing with each bounce that makes Castiel’s stomach contort in turn. “No offense, but sounds like some dumbass beliefs if they say you should go back after whatever your mom did.”

Castiel looks at him. Dean raises an eyebrow.

“I’m just saying. If it was bad, you shouldn’t go back.”

Castiel looks down. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. He doesn’t know what he believes. But he can’t just leave his mother forever. Ephesians 6:1. The leaving with Dean yesterday was a lapse. He has to go back. “I have to.”

“Jesus, Cas...why?”

“I just do.”

“That’s not a fucking answer!”

Castiel wants to throw up, and they flinch at the anger in Dean’s voice. “My mother would say because God wants children to obey their parents,” they utter, barely above a whisper. They can’t find it within themself to say that they don’t believe the same. But maybe Dean understands.

“What about what  _ you  _ want?”

His voice is soft again, almost apologetic, somehow. The question is simple. The answer is not. There are many things Castiel wants. Many of which are unattainable. Or perhaps they only seem unattainable. Castiel doesn’t know. He hasn’t been asked a question like this before, that he can remember. It’s new and foreign. He tries to think of an answer, heart fluttering like hummingbird wings and shaking like the earth at the realization that he is looking Dean in the eye. One want becomes clear. Castiel doesn’t know if they could speak it, if that would answer the question, if he should answer the question at all. But giving into that want would be so simple in this moment. And what is one more sin, after all the rest? Especially one as special as this. Perhaps, just this once, if God does exist, he could forgive them.

Dean opens his mouth to speak. “Cas-”

Castiel allows his thoughts to stop as he leans forward so fast he may be falling, and he kisses him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed 👀 next chapter soon (or eventually slkfjlsd)
> 
> have a superb day/night!!


	21. twenty one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why do government when i can write <3
> 
> warnings for slight mention of homophobia, and i think that's it, this chapter is kinda fluffy tbh

_d.w._

“Cas-”

Dean’s muscles go stiff at the sudden movement Cas makes in his direction, and he reaches his hands out instinctively to catch them or something as their lips meet his. Hot anger, deep inside of him, coming up again, drowning out the worry and everything else, is suddenly wiped out in the blink of an eye by a cold wave of startling ocean water that comes with contact. His breath catches somewhere in his throat, and it stays caught and frozen there for a while. His entire body mimics it, unable to move, just petrified in shock from Cas’ lips against his and Cas’ hand coming to rest at his shoulder and Cas. Just Cas.

And then he kisses back, because he can’t help himself, because he’s on his way to falling in love with him. Has been for a while. And Cas doesn’t stop kissing him, even when Dean’s terrified he might. Terrified it’s a mistake, that Cas doesn’t know what he’s doing. But he kisses him still, and Dean doesn’t dare pull away for longer than a quick breath. He moves the two armrests between them out of the way, almost wishing he’d finished fixing up his dad’s Impala just for the sake of having a bench seat in the front. He pulls Cas more towards him, and Cas pushes forward at the same time, nearly knocking Dean out of the seat. His elbow hits the horn as he catches his balance, and Cas pulls away suddenly at the noise. Dean laughs. “Sorry…” he breathes. “Guess I just fell in love with you there…”

Cas rolls his eyes slightly, the ghost of a smile on his face. Dean wants to melt at the sight of it. “Shut up…dork...” Cas murmurs, leaning into Dean’s space again and kissing him hard. Dean hums against their lips as their hands grip the front of his shirt.

“‘M not a dork…” He smiles against their lips. The driver’s side door of the car is pressed uncomfortably against his back, but he doesn’t say anything about it for now.

“Shut up...” Cas pushes against him harder, and Dean gasps slightly.

“Shit, Cas-” He starts between kisses, trying to push forward and get the door out of his back. “We should- Later-”

Cas pulls back again, practically sitting in Dean’s lap now. They say nothing for a moment, before nodding. The breathlessness of their inhales and exhales leaves Dean wanting to stay here forever with them, but he knows they have class and then performances afterwards, and the door is still ruining his spine at the moment. “Right...sorry…” Cas says quietly, moving back and out of Dean’s lap. Dean shrugs. 

“Don’t be sorry, it’s just...classes, y’know...and it’s not super comfortable up here in the front…” he mumbles, biting his lip as he sits up straight in the driver’s seat. “So, uh...looks like you weren’t like smited or whatever.”

Cas tilts his head, the most adorable look of confusion on his face as he does. Dean grins.

“God didn’t send you straight to hell or anything for kissing me or running away from your mom.”

Cas’ eyes flicker down. “No…” they murmur. “I guess not.”

Dean clears his throat. “I say that’s a win.” He carefully reaches his hand up to brush his fingers over Cas’ lips. “And the kissing, too. That’s a big win. You’re a...big win.” He feels his face warm up. “Not like...sorry, that sounded weird. Just meant ‘cause...y’know. You’re great.”

Cas smiles just slightly as he looks at him again. “Yeah?”

Dean nods. “Definitely.”

“I’m...glad.”

“Good. Me too.”

Cas smiles a little wider, then looks away. “We should get to class.”

Dean sighs. “Yeah, probably.”

Neither of them move to actually get out of the car. Dean’s entire body feels like it’s filled with air. In a less painful way than actually being filled with air probably is. He just feels light and on clouds and full of every good emotion he’s ever felt. And all because of the person in front of him. Who isn’t moving. And neither is he. “You’re not getting to class…” Cas whispers after a while.

“Neither are you,” Dean whispers back with a grin. Cas rolls his eyes, but is still smiling.

“Do you- Perhaps for the first period or so we could just...move this to the back seat or something?”

Dean hums and taps his chin with fake thoughtfulness. “I think I can work with that…” he says. Cas laughs as Dean moves to kiss him again, before he pulls back and moves to the back seat of the car. Cas joins him, and Dean pulls him tightly against him. “Hey…” he murmurs softly as Cas’ hands wrap around Dean’s waist and hold him just as tightly. Cas’ eyes meet his.

“Hello…”

They kiss again.

And they kiss until Dean can’t breathe, until the muscles in his mouth and jaw hurt, until Cas pulls back and just moves to lie beside him on the backseat. They don’t say a word to each other, just gazing into each other’s eyes, like some movie, some fairytale, some perfect story. He came out yesterday, and now he's just made out with Cas. It's everything he wants right now. It's the dream life. But dreams never last. It’s bound to end eventually. And who knows how it’ll end? Angry or fiery or broken. Dean doesn’t even know what this is. He knows he doesn’t want it to end, but that’s all. He knows that being here with Cas is all he wants. That it could all change the moment they leave the metal enclosure of the car walls. And still, he sits after a moment, and speaks. “We should really get to class now…” he mumbles as Cas sits up as well. They sigh, blue eyes flickering down.

“Yeah…”

With that, they both get out of the car. Dean realizes Cas doesn’t have his school bag with him. He asks Cas if he needs anything for class. Cas says he doesn’t. And they go their separate ways without another word. They don’t see each other again until a few minutes before the performance starts after school. They don’t say much. Dean tries to avoid looking at Cas much, though he can’t say why. He’s just scared, probably. Scared of the change. Scared of losing Cas now that they’ve had whatever moment they had in his car.

Cas doesn’t come down from the booth during intermission. Dean’s heart is slowly getting smaller as it’s pulled down. Benny must notice, because they place a hand on Dean’s shoulder suddenly, and he jumps. “Fuck…” he breathes, forcing a small smile.

“Didn’t mean to startle you, brother,” Benny says softly. Dean meets his eyes, before shaking his head.

“Nah. It’s fine.”

“You alright?”

Dean nods. “Just tired, didn’t get much sleep.”

Benny clicks their tongue. “Shoulda told me, I woulda messaged you something to bore you to death.”

“You could never bore me.”

Benny shrugs. Silence, for just a second. “You seen Cas?”

Dean shakes his head. “Not since before the beginning of the show.”

“You finally scare him off?”

It’s a joke. Of course it is. But Dean’s kind of worried he might’ve. He doesn’t know how, but he might’ve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed, drop comments and kudos!! have a wonderful day/night <3


	22. twenty two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no thoughts, head empty, only deancas.
> 
> warnings for mention of abuse and homophobia

_d.w._

****Kissing Benny during the performance feels weird now, but Dean ignores the feeling. He's an actor, after all. He goes out to the foyer with everyone afterwards, looking for Cas. He doesn't see him. Last time he saw him was just a quick glimpse at the end of intermission. He goes to the men's dressing room to look there and to get his phone. He still doesn't find Cas. He starts typing up a message.

**_deanbean: hey, where are you_ **

**_deanbean: you okay?_ **

He really doesn’t expect an answer to come as fast as it does when he sends the message.

**_beestiel: sorry, still in the booth figuring out some issues with lighting_ **

Dean bites his lip, wondering how believable the message actually is.

**_deanbean: did i piss you off_ **

He pockets his phone after sending that, kind of because he’s scared of what Cas’ll say, but mostly because Crowley just walked into the dressing room. “You did decent today, Squirrel,” he says with the smallest smile, and Dean rolls his eyes, managing to smile back. He tries to ignore anything that has to do with Cas in his brain.

“Yeah, so did you,” he responds. “Helps that you’re already really over-dramatic, doesn’t it?”

Crowley’s eyes narrow slightly. “Dick.”

Dean shrugs, glancing around.

“What are you doing in here?”

“Sonny couldn’t make it to this show. Busy with the home. I didn’t see a point in waiting out there when I didn’t really have anyone to see. Besides, I already said hi to the Robinsons, and I was looking for Cas, so-”

“Bloody hell…”

Dean looks up at Crowley, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing. Please just find him quickly so the rest of us don’t have to see you acting like a lovesick puppy.”

Dean blinks. Is it that obvious? It can’t be that obvious, right? He hasn’t even known Cas _that_ long, and it doesn’t make sense that anyone would know, except maybe Sam. And maybe Charlie and Benny. But honestly, Dean’s tried to hide it. Kind of. Meaning he hasn’t told anyone. Maybe he’s just been acting weird. Talking about Cas too much. Does he talk about Cas too much? Fuck, does he talk _to_ Cas too much? No wonder he scared them away, he’s been-

“I am not a lovesick puppy-” Dean starts, but Crowley holds up a hand like he’s asking for silence, before he starts to leave. Dean’s jaw clenches as he watches him go. Well, fuck.

His phone buzzes a couple times in his pocket, and he takes it out as he makes his way to the light and sound booth. He doesn’t find Cas there.

**_beestiel: why would you have pissed me off?_ **

Dean sighs, leaning against the wall as he tries to think of a response. He doesn’t know, honestly. Maybe because he kissed Cas. Even though Cas kissed first, but maybe. Or maybe because he sat up and said they should go to class. Maybe because he’s Dean fucking Winchester, the perfect example of a dumbass, damaged piece of shit who gets destructive when things don’t go well, and sometimes even when they do.

**_deanbean: i don’t know_ **

**_beestiel: i’m not pissed off at you._ **

**_deanbean: oh_ **

**_beestiel: did i seem pissed off?_ **

**_deanbean: kinda_ **

**_deanbean: didn’t see you during intermission or after the show, and before the show you didn’t really say shit to me_ **

**_beestiel: you didn’t say much either._ **

Dean chews at his lower lip. Cas isn’t wrong. He didn’t really say anything to them either. Out of fear. And now he’s even more afraid that he’s ruined something. Like he always does. Because he’s broken, he lets himself be broken, because he doesn’t know how to fix himself. He’s tried. He’s better. But still broken. And the cracks that have been glued back together are still on the verge of breaking apart again at any moment. Any minor inconvenience. Broken, because of fire and punches and death. Broken, ready to break more and release all the anger buried deep inside, hidden away from everyone, seemingly resolved, but still there despite it all. Broken. Angry. Dean.

**_deanbean: i guess_ **

**_beestiel: are you pissed off?_ **

**_deanbean: no_ **

Dean waits a few minutes for a response, and after not getting one, he sends another message.

**_deanbean: where are you?_ **

**_beestiel: in the little theatre, where are you?_ **

**_deanbean: in the booth, looking for you…_ **

**_beestiel: well get down here_ **

Dean hesitates.

**_deanbean: is there a meeting or something before the next performance_ **

**_beestiel: no, no one else is here, i just think we should talk before the show starts. in person._ **

Dean’s heart is pushing out against his ribs with each beat, and it’s painful. He doesn’t respond, instead tucking his phone into his school bag, before going to the smaller of the two theatres in search of Cas. He finds him quickly, and he stops when he sees him. His feet feel stuck to the floor. Cas looks up and walks towards him when they see him. “Do you think this morning in the car was a mistake?” they ask after a moment. They’re so close to Dean that he barely has to move to touch them, but still, he can’t. He eventually shakes his head.

“No,” he admits quietly. Cas nods, running a hand through his hair. Dean swears his heart is going to projectile itself out of his chest, that he’ll lose it forever at Cas’ next words, or that he’ll break, like he broke when he punched Jonathan. That his anger will show again. He hasn’t talked to Sonny about it, like he was supposed to. Sonny asks. Dean never answers. He can’t talk about it. He should, but he can’t. And because of that, he broke. He will break.

“I don't think so either...but Dean, I'm-" Cas doesn't finish for a moment. "Can I stay with you? At your house, I mean..."

Dean nods, eyebrows furrowing. "Yeah."

"You promise?"

"Yeah, Cas, why-"

"I can't go back home, alright?"

Dean swallows hard at that. Right. Cas' mom is homophobic bitch, apparently. He hates her. Hasn't even been in the same room as her for longer than a few seconds and hates her. "Did she kick you out?" he asks quietly. Cas shakes his head.

"No. I...would just rather not."

Dean doesn't believe that's all there is. But he doesn't say anything else. He doesn't want to push. "You can stay with me."

Cas looks at him. He looks at them. And then they wrap him into a tight hug that Dean immediately matches.

"You okay?"

Cas sighs against Dean's neck. "I will be."

Dean makes a silent promise to make sure that's true. And his fractures stay stuck together, waiting to come apart a different day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed that <3
> 
> have a stellar day/night!!


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